Thoughts in the Dark
by lilmouse
Summary: Bored while on an Eyes Only mission, Max and Logan converse about a topic they usually don't discuss.
1. Default Chapter

**January 27, 2005: A moment of explanation, if you will indulge me, please… **

**This story possessed my mind while I was at work today. It forced me to stay at the computer on my breaks and type. I have no idea where it came from, and no idea where it might lead. Despite my protests - "I haven't finished the camping story yet!" - I was ignored.**

**When it was done, I decided to check with the protagonists. I showed it to Max, who skimmed it and snorted before giving it back and going on a hot run to Sector 7. **

**I think it's still unread in Logan's virtual pile of e-mail…**

**If this story goes any further, it will be due to encouragement from the readers that I have _not_ completely lost my mind. Set in Season One, but specific timeline unknown, even to me - yet. **

**There hasn't been a Beta, but I knew the job was dangerous when I accepted it… ;)**

**I wish to express my thanks to those of you who have shown an interest in my writing, both publicly and privately. It means a lot… :)**

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**By Mouse**

She waits on the roof, as still as a gargoyle, ignoring the sound of the vent as it clicks with every completed rotation beside her. The bulk of it and the air conditioning unit help to conceal her from any potential observer. She crouches in the early evening and scans the road three stories below her with eyes only science messing with God could produce.

Not that anyone should be out at this time of night, scouring the roof with binoculars, expecting to find her there. Normal people are home, having dinner, swapping office stories over sashimi and steamed rice: the post-Pulse equivalent of a pot roast.

Max is beginning to suspect that Eyes Only doesn't know any normal people.

She glances at her watch for the third time, wondering why she is so impatient to get this thing done. Nothing hurts in this position and her muscles won't cramp for hours if she has to stay here that long. Seattle is experiencing an unusual cold snap thanks to something the weather guy thought was very interesting on the news that morning, but at least it isn't windy. It isn't even looking like rain. Not that the weather bothers her at all.

The job isn't complicated. Wait until someone parks their car outside the building on which she is perched. Make note of the license plate and other vehicle information and get a good look at the guy to confirm his identity matches with the description they've been given. Wait while he goes inside. Wait until he comes out and leaves. Break in and get whatever he just dropped off. Take the item to Logan so Eyes Only can do his thing and knock down a group of corrupt city officials like bowling pins.

Simple. She can do that, sit here, and wait.

She acknowledges how distracted she is when the voice nearly makes her jump out of her perfect skin.

_"You okay up there, Max?"_

She puts her hand to the headset and cups it gently, as if it were his cheek. She takes a breath to steady herself before speaking.

"I'm fine," she says evenly. "Just bored."

He chuckles and she can hear the light tapping of his fingertips on the laptop keys. She can't hear the engine running and wonders if he's cold yet. Wonders if he's wearing an extra pair of socks.

Wonders if he's thinking of her.

_"Well, we can't have that now, can we?"_

She knows this drop off is the last piece of information he needs to get the broadcast done and he's letting some of his joy spill over for a change. Max allows herself a small smile. _Maybe that's it. I'm looking forward to watching him send the broadcast, live, and all of our hard work finally paying off._ She sighs. Or it could be the pasta he promised to cook her once the case was closed, even though it would be at least eleven o'clock at night before they'd be eating. Good thing she'd consumed some of his leftovers earlier.

She can picture him sitting in the Aztek a few blocks away, double-checking all his information as he scans the computer for updates that might suddenly appear in his inbox, calling the whole thing off. Gotta love wireless technology.

Or maybe he's playing video games…

She shakes her head. _Nah…_

"Comes with the job," she says. "Hurry up and wait, right?"

_"It's not very exciting down here, either."_ She can hear him clap his hands together and rub them vigorously. He's not wearing his gloves? Is he crazy? Unless he has some mixed-up, genetic background she doesn't know about, this weather _is_ a concern for him.

A concern for her.

"Hey, unless you're part polar bear, you'd better put your gloves back on."

She keeps it light, so he knows she cares but won't feel nagged. To her delight, he laughs.

_God, I wish I was in the car, next to him, right now, to feel the laugh fill the interior and wash over me. He laughs so rarely…_

_"Why do I keep forgetting about your heightened abilities?"_ She can picture him raising an eyebrow as they enjoy a few moments of casual banter, trying to dispel the boredom and prevent any tension or worry from creeping through a chink in their mutual armour.

"I have no idea," she says, scanning the intersection just north of her for any sign of movement. The streets are deserted. "You'd think it'd be somethin' you couldn't forget, what with the way I sneak up on you all the time."

_"Sometimes I know you're there,"_ he replies, and she can hear him shift his jacket, the sound of a zipper being pulled closer to his neck. She suddenly wants to hold him, warm his hands against the heat of her body. _Heat…_

She frowns. No, that isn't it, either. She'd know without a doubt if her cycle had arrived.

She'd be running for the hills.

_She'd be begging for him to touch her and ripping off his clothes._

She shudders at the pleasurable and frightening thought, realizes she's smiling. What is the matter with her?

Maybe it's the dark.

Sitting up here is like a mini-moment on the Space Needle and her thoughts are rambling through the night, hoping for some cohesion. She's thinking about Logan - again - and what their friendship means to her, and what she feels it could become if one of them took a step in the wrong direction. She frowns again. _Why would that direction be wrong?_

Logan doesn't give her time to think about it. _"We could play 'I,Spy'."_

She rolls her eyes. "We did that _last_ time we had a B & E, and I kicked your ass."

_"So? Maybe I like getting my ass kicked."_

Max starts. He sounds a bit distracted, like he's not thinking too hard about what he's saying or who he's speaking with, and that's fine with her. It tells her he's relaxing. Treating both of them like normal people, chatting while they eat sashimi.

_Feeling frisky tonight, are we Mr. Cale? Okay…_

"Hmmm," she says, her voice pretending to contemplate that sentence. "You like getting beaten by a girl?"

_"I don't recall saying that… exactly."_

"So, you forfeit your position as 'I,Spy' Champion?"

_"I didn't say that, either."_ She can hear him shift his jacket again, as if he were getting comfortable in the seat. _"I'll admit you're good at it, and I'll agree that you… kicked my ass last time, but forfeiting my… _position_ is not an option."_

_Are we negotiating the ground rules for flirting with one another?_ She refrains from laughing. Why is it easier for them to communicate like this when they're several city blocks apart than when they're in the same room?

Maybe the dark is working for him, too.

"I can imagine your… _position_ on this," she says, allowing a certain amount of innuendo to escape. "Just curious how you felt about being beaten by a girl?"

There is a pause and she wonders if she's misinterpreted his mood, taken the banter someplace he doesn't want to go.

_"I like _being_ with a beautiful, strong, intelligent woman,"_ he says, and she can envision his poker face. His voice isn't betraying much, either. It's quiet, gentle and stating a fact but not connecting it directly to her.

Max realizes that he's leaving it open. If she wants to step over that line they silently drew in the sand when they started working together, she is welcome. She can imagine him peering at her over the rims of his glasses with those incredible eyes that all Seattle knows, but only a few are acquainted with the body and soul that are part of the package.

"Is she anyone I know?" She's still joking, playing along and trying to keep the tone of her voice in that 'I'm not serious, of course' mode. That 'I know we're not like that' stance that both of them use as they emotionally circle one another. She doesn't know how successful she is; her voice has matched his in volume and a part of her winces at the breathy quality she couldn't quite squish in time. She waits, wondering what will happen next. Wondering if he'll slip and put into words something that she's been picking up from his body language and eyes for months now.

Hoping.

_"Might be."_ He clears his throat. _"Max, I –" _A hitch in his breathing._ "I've got a car coming towards me."_ Her headset crackles. He has obviously flung himself down on the seat beside him, waiting for the other vehicle to pass. Max looks north and seconds later, there it is, an ancient Honda Civic turning the corner and coming towards the building.

The vent beats beside her like a pulse. _Logan was about to tell me something,_ she thinks, noticing her own pulse has increased in anticipation of what he might have said. _Crap. Why couldn't the guy have waited a few minutes longer?_ _This better be it. This better be the guy we've been waiting for…_

_And if he isn't the perp, _Max thinks darkly, _I just might have to kill him._

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To Be Continued…?


	2. Thoughts in the Dark: Chapter Two

**January 31, 2005: This is a long author's note, so please bear with me. **

**To say that I am surprised by the incredible response this story has received would be an understatement. **

**Wow. I can't emphasize that enough. **

**_goggles at the reviews_**

**You'd think with my penchant for words, I'd be able to retrieve a more impressive exclamation from my archive, but 'wow' really sums it up nicely. My thanks to all who have read and those who have reviewed. This story was posted on a whim and almost didn't make daylight. I guess I'm on to something… ;)**

**_goggles at the reviews some more_**

**I'd like to add my thanks to Alaidh, who has graciously agreed to Beta this story from now on. She claims the first chapter - who knew there would be more than one- has very little she would've changed if I'd given her the option to Beta it. I didn't want to bother her, busy Beta that she is: Silly me. ;) With Alaidh on board, I can only imagine how much better the story will be. :)**

**I only hope I can live up to the expectations of what is, apparently, an enthusiastic following. I'm still working on 'Getting Away From It All' so my creative attention has been divided. However, your voices have been heard. Many thanks again, folks. Enjoy:)**

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter 2**

He lies awkwardly on the seat of his vehicle, the bulk of his laptop precariously balanced on his knees. His fingers grip the case and he tries not to focus on any discomfort brought on by his current position. He doesn't know how long he can maintain it. Holding his breath isn't going to make him less noticeable to the passing car but he does it anyway, like a child being caught reading with a flashlight under his sheets.

_If you can't hear me, you can't see me…_

He knows that doesn't work in real life.

The car continues down the road. He wonders if this is the man they've been waiting for. Wonders how soon he can get his hands on the anticipated disc.

Wonders what he was about to say to Max.

_"Looks like this is our guy."_ He can picture her, poised on the roof of the old office building two blocks away, black leather heartbeat in a dead part of town. She sounds all business now. He releases the white-knuckled grip his left hand has on the computer and pulls himself upright again with the help of the steering wheel. He adjusts his headset.

"Positive ID?" Logan asks, running his fingers slowly along the cool section of metal that connects the earpiece to the microphone. It curves slightly.

_"Just a sec."_

He knows she's using her Manticore-enhanced eyes - able to see in the dark, at any distance, at will - to zoom in on the man. He tries not to think about her eyes. The poet he allows to surface for only brief intervals compares them with umber and chocolate mixed on a palate with a sharp knife and applied with a delicate brush.

_"Yeah, that's either him or his twin brother. Matches the photo you've got."_

"Good." He wishes he were there, beside her, getting ready for the moment she'll force the lock on the door from the roof and descend into the darkness. A team. Together.

The darkness…

What would he have said if they hadn't been interrupted? Did she know what he was trying to say? What compelled him to even attempt to flirt with the beautiful woman who entered his life to steal an Egyptian goddess - and left him with broken glass and a missing heart?

_And a long grocery list_, he thinks wryly. _She's eating me out of house and -_

_"He's gone inside. Had a key for the padlock." _She grunts as her attention is directed elsewhere._ "Surprised he made it here. What a piece of junk."_

Logan hadn't been able to see the condition of the car, but it did sound like it needed a new muffler. Noise pollution. Did they still hand out tickets for that? He isn't really concerned about it, though. Has bigger fish to fry.

This drop off is the last piece of information he needs to get the broadcast done. There are documents on this disc that will seal the fate of at least six of the major players, adding to the evidence he's already acquired. Various councillors are patting one another on the back and signing bills as favours for future decisions about Seattle's fate. Banking their support. It isn't unusual. This is politics, after all, and these are difficult times. What does he expect?

_When money is diverted away from health programs and people die_, he thinks grimly, _I expect accountability. When veterans and the elderly are permitted to slip through the cracks, I expect those involved to suffer the consequences. _He frowns and tries not to work himself to a state where he'll be a poor companion for the drive home. _When the money goes into restructuring projects that'll never happen, I expect Justice._

Logan checks his e-mail again to be certain nothing has alerted the prey to their activities. The building has no security, as far as he can determine, beyond the padlock on the front door. The back door is sealed with hastily erected cinder blocks. He guesses it's been there since just after the Pulse hit. The roof just needs a key.

Or a cat burglar with a lock pick set.

He allows a smile of satisfaction to curl the corners of his lips. He knows it's cold with the engine off but doesn't want to attract any attention. The neighbourhood is abandoned by businesses but not by squatters. He rubs his hands together, ignoring the gloves, which have slipped to the floor of the Aztek.

He strains to hear her breathing. More often than not, when they aren't speaking on these missions, he doesn't know he is connected to anyone at all. _Quiet as a mouse…_

Somewhere, a siren is wailing as an ambulance struggles through the check points to reach the injured.

_"So, now we wait again."_ Her voice is smiling, returning to the easy banter they enjoyed earlier. _"What a big surprise. I should get a reward for patience."_

He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. _Follow her lead…_

"That will be dinner," he says.

_"I'm countin' on it."_

"Lemon Linguine with roasted garlic toast."

_"I am so there."_

"Still not interested in 'I Spy', though, I take it?"

_"Nope. How about...'Truth or Dare'."_

Logan knows that tapping the headset won't change what he just heard, but he's tempted.

"Excuse me?"

Max laughs and there is no more beautiful sound. It shakes the man he has become because of her.

_"You heard me. You gotta learn to chill, Logan, or are you too played out for harmless games?"_

Harmless. Right. The gauntlet has been thrown at his feet. He adjusts his position in the seat and checks his watch: 7:12 PM.

"Not too old," he murmurs, letting her know he understands the slang. "Just not sure if you want to do this."

_"Nothin' else to do,"_ she purrs. _"And it's gonna be fun. Trust me."_

He checks the headset anyway, just in case it's broken or this is a dream and he'll snap back to reality. He actually looks in the back seat to see if he's missed the candid camera. Ridiculous. Allen Funt has been dead for years.

_"What's it gonna be?"_

Her voice is seductive, amused, and curious. He reminds himself he's only human.

Logan glances in the rear-view mirror. His glasses reflect the screen of the laptop and he can't see his eyes; a colourful screen saver of swirling shapes kaleidoscope across his lenses. Does a wheelchair-bound cyber-journalist play 'Truth or Dare' with a revved-up super girl? Who will he be tonight? Logan Cale or Eyes Only?

Clark Kent or Superman?

He keeps his glasses on.

"We don't have an umpire," he says, remembering some of the rules from when he was a kid. "Or a six-sided die."

_"So we improvise."_

"Difficult to do the dares," he points out.

He can hear leather slide against leather: a shrug. _"We'll think of somethin'."_ She sighs. _"We're adults, Logan. Go with it."_

Is she being coy? He isn't sure.

"Play fair. Play hard. Nobody hurt."

_"Deal."_

How does he get himself into these situations? He looks at his watch again. Maybe the time will pass more quickly if he isn't thinking about it. He wishes he'd grabbed something from the 'fridge before they'd left his apartment so he could eat in the car.

Not that there was much left after Max raided it…

"Who goes first?"

_"_I_ thought of it, so _I_ go first."_

He notes the emphasis on 'I' and wonders: _What is this all about?_ "Oh-kay…"

_"Okay."_ Max hesitates. Is this making her nervous, too? _"'Truth or Dare', Logan Cale?"_

"Truth." Easy. One word. Done. Her turn.

_"Boxers or briefs?"_

His brain seizes briefly, not anticipating such an intimate, yet fairly mundane, question. He actually needs a few seconds to find the answer. "Boxers."

He can imagine her nodding. _"Thought so. Your turn."_

Damn. "Uh…"

_"You tryin' to tell me you don't have anythin' you want to ask?"_

He purses his lips in thought and visualizes the gauntlet. "'Truth or Dare', Max?" He doesn't use 'Guevara'. That's a handy label she keeps for government forms. It isn't who she is.

_"Dare."_

Figures. In the middle of an Eyes Only mission, his personal cat burglar has given him permission to tell her to do something potentially outrageous. Why couldn't they be in his living room right now, playing this game? He sighs. Wonders if they'd even be having this conversation if they weren't two city blocks and three stories apart.

He'll think about that one later.

"Dare," he repeats.

_"Yeah."_

She sounds pleased with herself. _I'll get you…_

"Sing."

She chokes. _"What?"_

He smiles. "Sing, Max. You know what that means, right?" She doesn't interrupt him so he presses onward. "Sing 'God Bless America'. You do know how that goes?"

_"Think I've heard it once or twice,"_ she grumbles. What irks her the most - having to sing or having to sing a composition that praises the country that supported Manticore? He may never know.

"Whenever you're ready."

Silence. _"You sure you don't wanna pick somethin' else?"_

"Like what?"

_"Anything."_

"I doubt you can remove your bra while still wearing your leather top," he says, stunned to have spoken those words, but they're out now: how very high school. He'll brood about that later, too. "And I wouldn't be able to see that you've done it even if you could, so you'd better sing, Max."

After about thirty seconds, he checks the headset again to make certain it's working.

She clears her throat and starts to sing, quietly, so only he can hear.

Manticore didn't design her for this and it shows. Genetically engineered soldiers could easily possess a natural talent for singing - but she doesn't. She isn't awful, but she'd never make it on Seattle Idol.

_"And don't ask me to do that again,"_ she says firmly when the last note is complete.

"This is 'Truth or Dare', Max." Logan hopes his voice doesn't betray his delight: even off key, she is his angel. "Anything goes."

He immediately knows he'll regret saying that.

_"Real-ly?"_ She draws the word out like it's coated in sin and twice as addictive. _"Well, then. I think it's your turn again."_

Logan swallows and wonders how much this is going to hurt.

_"Truth or Dare, Mr. Cale?"_

-

* * *


	3. Thoughts in the Dark: Chapter Three

**February 9, 2005: A moment of your time, once more, please. I promise to be brief… ;)**

**I'm working on this chapter just a day and a bit after I posted Chapter 2, and the response to that installment has been overwhelming and delightful. I say again, I had no idea it would garner such attention. Thank you so much for your feedback. I continue to hope I won't disappoint as the story progresses. :)**

**_goggles at recent reviews_**

**I… uh… _Wow._**

**My thanks to Alaidh, the Almighty Beta, who took on this assignment despite her already ominous Beta load. I'll have to think of something tasty for your stocking this year…**

**Enjoy. :)**

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter 3**

His breathing has changed.

She can tell over the headset that it's a little faster than before, has a hint of panic. The rules are clear: no one gets hurt. That doesn't mean she can't make him sweat.

"You still with me, Logan?" she asks sweetly.

_"Uh, yeah, I'm just thinking."_

"'Truth or Dare'? Not a lot to think about, right?"

_"Right. Uh, truth?"_

Max doesn't laugh, although the temptation is there. Her eyes lose their focus as she pictures him sitting in the Aztek, basically trapped because of the mission, following through with the game because to call it off now would weaken his position. She wonders if he's rubbing his palms over his thighs, a nervous gesture she's noticed. Wonders if he's licking his lips while his mind weighs his response.

Wonders if he tastes like coffee.

"Is that a question or a choice?"

_"A choice," _he says decisively._ "Truth."_

_Figures he wouldn't go for a dare,_ she thinks. _I could've made_ him _sing. Not very original, sure, but it would've been satisfyin'._

It suddenly occurs to her that she has no idea if he _can_ sing.

"Okay."

_"You aren't going to ask about my socks now, are you?"_

She raises an eyebrow._ Guess I surprised him with the underwear question…_

"Nooo," she says languidly, wondering if the question she has in mind will be considered taboo - or the opening of a door they had assumed was locked. "I know you're wearin' black socks. Not the kinda info I need."

_"Right."_

She gazes up at the clear night sky and searches for constellations she remembers from another life. "I got somethin' different for ya." She can imagine his face, a combination of trepidation and trying to appear cool. A small smile curves her lips. _He looks so cute when he's anxious…_

Max lies back on the roof, stretches her arms over her head and lets the darkness take her.

"Do you ever dream of me?"

There. It's out. A fantasy question that has no place in her life other than this moment, an opportunity to ask something so inherently against her better judgment. She is well aware that curiosity killed the cat.

Silence. She occupies her time finding Polaris and Orion and wonders if he'll answer.

_"Yes."_

His voice is so quiet that she probably wouldn't have heard him if she wasn't more than human. She knows he is telling the truth but automatically asks for confirmation.

"Really?"

Who is speaking? It can't be her. This voice sounds so… vulnerable.

_"Yes."_

She swallows. He said 'yes'. _Twice._ He didn't change his mind, didn't add a proviso or turn it into a laugh followed by "Just kidding!"

What does she do now? Can she ask him about the dream? Or will that be pushing the limits of whatever rules they are establishing?

"Oh," she manages, sounding small, weak. She hates that.

He clears his throat._ "My turn," _he says, gentle, sincere, as if he knows she's opened herself to him and needs his voice to protect her, cover her like a blanket of steel.Something has changed, so subtle only they might know the difference._ "'Truth or Dare', Max?"_

They've done it. They've crossed the line in the sand, but he isn't going to make it easy. He'll need to be coaxed. She sighs. She can handle that.

"Truth."

The air being pumped out of the building smells of dust and neglect. She ignores it and the rhythm of the vent and focusses on the man at the other end of her wireless connection with Fate.

He must have anticipated her choice because there's no hesitation on his part.

_"If I stopped feeding you, would you still come over to my apartment?"_

_Ah, _she thinks._ The 'meal ticket' question._

Max doesn't fool herself into thinking she'd be able to cook anything that tastes half as good as something Logan can prepare, and his sources for hard-to-find edibles are very reliable. The dinners are amazing but they aren't the only reason she stops by on a regular basis. Food has become an excuse for spending time with one another. They both know that and don't discuss it.

Logan has issues; this isn't news. His question is completely natural for a man who needs reassurance that someone likes him whether or not he can poach an egg. Whether or not he always keeps milk in the 'fridge, even though he doesn't drink it much himself.

Whether or not he's in a wheelchair.

"Yes."

The frequency of her visits isn't just to fill her stomach, or to get the latest scoop on Lydecker and her siblings. Eyes Only missions are another reason to stop by, of course, but that's all part and parcel of their 'quid pro quo' agreement; their approach to getting through the day.

What is their relationship, anyway? Eyes Only was the lure but it's become something else. A symbiosis. A need.

It's a reason for Logan to get up in the mornings and face his demons head-on when he'd probably rather go back to sleep.

It's a reason she still works as a bike messenger and puts up with Normal and pretends to have a life like everybody else.

There is a goal for both of them, taunting them like daylight at the end of the tunnel: he dispenses Justice as self-proclaimed protector of Seattle and she comes closer to reconnecting with her 'family' while staying under the radar.

Together.

_"Good,"_ he says quietly, sounding satisfied as he shifts in his seat again. Obviously, he feels he can't leave it there. _"Is it because of -"_

"Hey! One question at a time. Those are the rules."

_"Right."_

Quid pro quo. She smiles.

_Logan thrives on catching the bad guy and I get to kick some ass…_

_"I'm wait-ing," _he says, letting his voice tease a little.

Max is brought back to the question she just answered, and to the realization that it's her turn to ask him again. She knows there are other reasons she drops by his apartment, sometimes unannounced, often with no particular agenda. That's feeding a different sort of hunger.

She'll think about that later.

"'Truth or Dare'?"

_"Truth."_

"Are you ever going to say 'dare'?"

_"Is that your question?"_

"No!"

Logan laughs. She wishes, once again, that the distance between them didn't exist.

"My question is… When you dream of me, what am I doing in the dream?"

He hesitates. Max abruptly stops looking for the constellations and hopes she won't regret asking. What if it's horrible? What if he dreams of her killing people? He's seen her fight and he knows of what she is capable. Blood on the snow. Death.

_"Dancing."_

Is it possible for an X-5 to forget how to breathe?

_"You're wearing a white dress,"_ he continues, as if saying it out loud will jog her memory. _"And you ask me to dance."_ He stops and she can sense he's struggling with something, perhaps the ability to vocalize such a personal moment to anyone - including himself. The last three words are spoken in a whisper. _"And we do."_

She listens to his voice and revels in the sound. Her heart is pounding so hard her ribs ache. _The dream. We shared the dream…_

Max shivers. She can feel his arms around her as she lies here in the dark and his words swallow her, like a fine merlot.

_"Max?"_

She bites her bottom lip. "Yes?"

The closing of a door shatters the moment.

_I've been distracted by a game,_ she thinks, irritated and embarrassed that she let her guard down when she is supposed to be working. No one gave her permission to dream. She tenses briefly then with a roll and a flip she's standing on two feet again and approaching the edge.

The guy is obviously in a hurry. She arrives in time to see the sleeve of the man's denim jacket pull the door closed on the driver's side of the Honda Civic. He starts the engine. Max checks the front door of the building but can't tell for certain if the padlock has been snapped shut. No matter. She's all set for entering through the door on the roof. After two attempts at finding first gear, the driver opts for second and lurches down the street, not slowing down to take the corner.

"Comin' atcha."

_"Right."_ A muffled sound tells her he's ducked without hitting the headset this time. The engine roars into the night and disappears. _"Wish we didn't have to let him go."_

"We'll get him later," Max assures him, pulling out the lock pick she selected earlier and reaching the door in a few swift steps. "Nobody escapes Eyes Only."

He chuckles and arranges himself in his seat again. _"I wish."_

The lock is easy. She probably could have kicked it open – who will care? – but this is less obvious. No one has to know she was ever here. In. Out. The caseload on the cops might be light this week and some poor rookie would be stuck investigating the break-in on a deserted building. It could happen.

"I'm in," she says, and steps onto the small landing at the top of a steep flight of stairs. It isn't designed for daily use so function has overruled form. She pulls the door shut behind her and listens for any movement, even though they determined the day before that there weren't even any squatters in this building. Logan wondered why it was empty, as it seems to be in good shape, but it doesn't matter.

She cocks her head to one side, holds very still. Nothing. Her eyes adjust for the complete lack of light and she begins her descent.

_"Well,"_ he says and clears his throat. _"I guess it's my turn."_

Max smiles, her hand lightly running along the metal rail that's bolted to the wall. Who knew he'd enjoy the game?

After the last round, she isn't sure if she's thrilled or terrified.

_"'Truth or Dare', Max?"_

* * *


	4. Thoughts in the Dark: Chapter Four

**February 21, 2005: A short note. No, really…;)**

**Someone who reviewed asked who was responsible for the questions for Max and Logan's game of 'Truth or Dare'.**

**The 'Dark Angel' universe belongs to others, but the writing and ideas herein are my entire fault. :)  
**

**Thanks, once more, to Alaidh for being a super Beta. I hope you like where the game is going, guys.**

**Sorry for the delay. Real life occasionally takes me away from my writing. Thank you for your patience. :)**

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter 4**

Her smile is evident over the headset.

He isn't sure how he can tell, he just knows. He can picture her entering the gloom of the building's third floor, a bounce in her step despite the dust, a radiance to her that sets the empty hall glowing where her black boots leave their mark.

Logan takes a moment to reflect on the visual memories he has stored of Max, indelible like ink, intractable like a cryptic crossword. Some images are stills, like photography: a warm smile, a look of annoyance, the back of her jacket as she leaves him to stew in his damned logic, again. If you flip the photos, it's almost like a movie.

Some are like shadow theatre he can replay behind his eyes, over and over. Max leaping from the hotel roof, a beautiful avenger to rescue him as he plummets to his death, when he'd come to rescue _her_. Max fighting the Reds in the garage of the courthouse - and losing. Max returning to the Aztek, her face distraught, and kissing him with so much regret it takes his breath.

He smiles. Tonight, she is black leather in darkness, a study in tonal qualities. Emma Peel in her cat suit before 'The Avengers' went to colour. He contemplates that analogy and decides he'd look silly in a bowler hat.

He shakes his head and tries to describe exactly all the things 'Max' would mean if you were to look her up in the dictionary:

**Max**, _noun_: A woman of mystery genetically designed by a government agency, a chimera (see **Manticore**); a bike messenger who moonlights as a thief (see footnote on **Bast**); a temperamental angel who is learning to interact with certain obstinate members of Humanity (see **Cale, Logan**).

Logan sighs and admits to himself that he's playing 'Truth or Dare' with a young woman he associates with an Egyptian goddess.

Could his life be more bizarre?

The game has developed into something he least expected. He has admitted to several things he determined months ago never to tell her. He isn't exactly the Catch of the Day. More like Bachelor Number Two, who never gets chosen because he speaks the Truth.

And yet, he feels… lighter, somehow. Free. Not only has it been revealing, but he's actually having fun. He worries about whether or not he should be worried that he's having fun. They're on a Mission. This is Serious Business. He realizes he's clenching his jaw and tries to relax.

He'll handle the repercussions of their revelations when the mission is completed.

"Everything okay?" _Of course it is_, he tells himself. _She'll let you know if something's wrong._ He is part of the team, though. It's his job to remind her that she isn't alone.

_"No problem,"_ she says. There's a change in the sound of her voice, reflecting her presence within the walls of the building - an echo the night didn't possess. He checks the floor plans he has on his screen and guesses she must have reached the bottom of the stairs from the roof. No doubt the hall is empty and the plaster walls are tingeing her voice an eerie colour - any of several fluctuating shades of pale purple. _"Not much to look at, either."_ She sniffs. _"It doesn't smell damp just… I dunno…"_

"Forgotten?" he suggests. He reminds himself - again - to relax. The place is clear. Max will be fine. Any worry he has developing as tightness in his chest is just his over-active imagination. He wonders if she's curious about the people who used to work there. Wonders if she thinks much of the décor.

Wonders if she'll like the linguine.

_"Forgotten." _She tests the word with her tongue._ "Yeah. That'll do."_ She clears her throat. _"So…"_

"So." He waits, hoping she'll return to the game, anticipating her choice.

_"Truth."_

"Okay." He checks his watch: 7:39 PM. He swallows and decides the darkness can be liberating. "Did you take my poem the other night?"

He doesn't have to say which poem. There is only one missing from his journal.

_Forever eyes. Dark. Somebody's angel._

_His_ angel.

_"I'm at the end of the hall,"_ she says, ignoring his question. _"Taking the stairs to the second floor."_

It's the first sign of evasion in their game. In a way, his question has been answered, but he has to know for certain.

"I'm not accusing you of anything, Max, and I'm not angry. I just… want to know." He looks at the plan for the second floor on his screen and pictures her descending the stairs, moving silently along the darkened walls like a ghost. "It's the third door on the right," he adds, though she knows already. The mission is pretty straightforward but they went through it with the same level of detail they have come to accept as How They Operate.

Nothing left to chance. Ever.

_"Logan?"_

He licks his lips. Is she going to end the game? Did he take it too far? "I'm here."

_"I - I've got your poem."_

Hearing her say those words is like a balm to soothe an open wound. His journal is very private, and he had almost changed his mind about sharing it with her several times.

"You took it that night?"

_"Yeah."_ She laughs softly. _"I like it."_

Maybe the tightness in his chest isn't concern about the mission.

"You like it?" His voice holds surprise and elation. It sounds loud in the SUV. He hopes the emotions don't scare her as much as they are scaring him.

_"Yeah."_ Her voice turns stern. _"And you've had your allotment of questions for this round, mister."_

"Sorry," he says, sounding anything but. Can his smile grow any wider?

_"I'll let it go…_ this _time__."_

"Nice of you," he says dryly.

_"I thought so."_ She sighs. _"'Truth or Dare', Logan?"_

He doesn't hesitate; he isn't going to risk having to sing. "Truth."

_"Hmmm… It's locked."_

He hears the sound of a door handle being shaken. "Locked?"

_"Yep."_

"And it's the third door on the right?"

_"Yep."_

"It isn't supposed to be locked." He opens another window on his screen to double-check his information. Max grunts a word he doesn't quite catch. He stops his search, hands pausing over the keyboard. "You in?"

_"As if there was any doubt."_

He relaxes slightly. "Never doubted you for an instant."

_"Good to know I've got your support."_ The door needs work; he can hear it creak through the headset.

"I've got your back, Max."

_"I know,"_ she says.

Logan suspects they are having at least two conversations with those words. He considers bringing that element into their conversation.

_"Truth, you say?"_

"Uh, yes."

He wonders what she's going to ask him about. His last game of 'Truth or Dare' was a lifetime ago - someone else's life. The truth involved telling nine other faces which of the five girls in the circle he liked most. The dares included kissing them in another room and other audacious intimacies performed when you are fourteen and eager and drunk on three bottles of beer.

_"Why have you never made a pass at me?"_

He wasn't expecting that one, though he should have known it was a possibility. He isn't blind and he isn't stupid. They are attracted to one another but he is well aware he continues to reinforce his emotional walls when he feels them weakening. Why? For his own protection? For hers?

_We're friends_, he could say, and rattles the list of other evasive responses that sound lame. _We're not like that. It's a business relationship. Quid pro quo. I don't have time for dating._

Equally lame are: _I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to get hurt. I'm in a wheelchair and not happy about it, did you notice?_

Logan isn't fourteen. He licks his lips and absently rubs the part of his thighs that aren't covered by his laptop.

He decides she deserves better than inane excuses.

"You make me nervous." He's speaking quietly but knows she'll be able to hear him, regardless. "You are… truly… the most intelligent, beautiful woman I have ever met. I… enjoy being with you and I don't… I don't want to blow it, Max." He sighs and closes his eyes, lets his head fall back against the seat. He shouldn't have encouraged the game. He is an insecure man, paralyzed physically and mentally, who copes with his life by trying to make the world a better place for other people.

In his daydreams about a rosy future, he usually excludes himself from participating in the happy ending.

Silence.

"Max?" His eyes snap open and return to the screen. He checks the headset, frowning slightly, and strains to hear anything. His heart sinks as realization cuffs him roughly in the head.

Either their connection has been broken or he's just lost the friendship of the only person in the world he feels he can trust.

* * *


	5. Thoughts in the Dark: Chapter Five

**February 22, 2005: I'd like to thank all the wonderful people who have taken the time to review. I know I sound like a parrot, repeating the same phrases over and over again, but your feedback means a great deal to me. Thank you. :)  
**

**I'd also like to send out a big thank you to those who read but don't review. Not everyone feels comfortable or has the time or thinks they can add to what has already been said. That's cool. I write because I enjoy writing, and places like FFN make it possible for me to share my ideas with more people than I ever thought would be interested. :)**

**Finally, Alaidh continues to Beta this story and for that, I am grateful. :)**

**_March 29, 2005: My apologies for the delay. Life, you know? _**

**_Enjoy!_**

****

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter 5**

Max can't breathe.

She stands in the doorway, stunned, his words immobilizing her. Her gloved hands grip the mouldings on either side for stability. There is a window in this room. The glass is dirty and pocked, but the faint light from one of the few functioning streetlamps penetrates the haze and casts her shadow into the hallway: stock still, her arms outstretched. Capturing her like a rare butterfly pinned in a display case.

_Logan answered my question._

This is unexpected and she doesn't know what to do.

_Who started this stupid game anyway?_ she thinks, and realizes she's trembling slightly. She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, steadies herself. _Oh. I did. Right._

She has just heard the exclusive reclusive, Logan Cale, admit to feelings she has suspected but dared not to hope for, and she should be happy. She _is_ happy, but startled as well. The ghost of Bruno Anselmo could appear and tell her she's won the lottery and she'd be less surprised. She frowns slightly, thinking about Bruno and the bullet that shattered Logan's spine, and how that changed everything.

If Logan were still walking, would it have taken this long for them to get _here_?

If he were still walking, would she even care about the rich pretty boy who plays God from his Fortress of Solitude?

_If he were still walking_, she concludes grimly, _would he be the same man he is today? The man that I -_

Max isn't ready to say that word yet.

So she stands in the doorway, ignoring the sound the moulding is making as she unconsciously pulls it loose. After all this time and speculation, she was right.

_She was right._

Continuing to hope, constantly getting mixed signals, not entirely sure of the rules…

_Logan answered my question._

She is elated. She is terrified.

_"Max? Max, can you hear me?"_

She really should answer him. What must he be thinking? That the headsets are broken? That she hates him now? Both of them have ways of avoiding connections, and they are sufficiently cynical regarding the opposite sex that they use it as a shield when love is involved. Neither wants to suffer the blow that comes the moment the shield is lowered.

They both like to be in control. Calm.

She can tell by the cracks in his voice that his calm demeanour is slipping rapidly.

She doesn't know what to say. There are so many possible responses to this revelation. Where does she begin? Does she tell him how she feels or does she flee from those emotions, as usual?

_You're the one who asked him_, she thinks, gripping harder. The mouldings protest and pull partially free. _Shoddy workmanship_. She stares for a few seconds and yanks them the rest of the way, tossing them into the room she has yet to enter, her mind preoccupied.

_"Max? What was that? What's going on? Max!"_

"Nothing."

_"It sounded like - "_

"Wood. It's some pieces of _wood_, Logan. It isn't important."

There is a pause and she wonders what he must be thinking right now, stuck in the Aztek, in the cold, in the middle of a mission. Wonders if he's sorry he played the game and answered questions a genetically engineered killing machine had no right to ask in the first place.

Wonders if he'll still cook her the linguine.

_"So… I guess you _can_ hear me."_ The pain in his voice is impossible to ignore. It starts a cold knot of fear in her stomach.

"I can hear you," she says. "I… I _heard_ you," she amends. Max guesses only a minute passed while she regained a hold of herself. She takes a step. Stops. She isn't going in any particular direction and can't focus on the items around her. "Is it the truth?"

There's that voice again. Vulnerable. Scared.

_"Truth."_ He speaks quickly; as if it's the only way he can override his own automatic defence system. That system came at a high price, Max knows, and he relies on it heavily.

_Logan answered my question._

"I…" What does she say?

_I've broken in_, Max thinks, almost giddy. _And I didn't even use a lock pick._

_"Max, it's okay,"_ he begins, and she can hear his mind snap into reverse. Strategic withdrawal. She swallows. Oh god, she has to stop him, she has to -

"Logan, don't." Where are the words? She has an extensive vocabulary and knows how to use it. Why is it abandoning her now? "Don't go back."

He hesitates.

_"__I'm… not sure what you're saying."_

Is the man being deliberately obtuse or is he seriously not getting it? She isn't certain.

"If you go back now, we may never get _here_ again." Her voice has an edge of desperation. In the space of under an hour, her relationship with this man has altered substantially and it could disintegrate in an instant of assumed doubt. "I don't want to go back. I want to stay _here_. No, wait, I want to go _forward_."

Why is she babbling?

_"Max, I - "_

"No! Stay with me, Logan. Don't leave me hangin' by myself."

He hesitates again.

_"You know I've got your back, Max."_

"What you said - what you _just_ said before that - the part about not wanting to blow it, I - well, I… I need…"

Brave X-5. Lydecker would be so proud. What a sacrifice to show such weakness…

_"Max?"_

She is biting her lip again. "Yeah?"

_"'Truth or Dare'?"_

His voice embraces her. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other.

"Truth."

_"Do you…"_ Max can picture him licking his lips again before continuing. _"Do you want to be… more than… just friends?"_

Can it be this simple? Is it really easier for them to take this step through a game than by more traditional methods, like sitting down on a couch, holding hands, looking one another in the eyes as they share their feelings…

Max shudders. Do people in love really do those things or is that just in the movies? Flowers, chocolates, little notes on the 'fridge, motor oil, dinners together…

_Well, we've got the dinners covered_, she thinks wryly.

They aren't your average couple. Anyone who knows them - and that's a very limited list of friends - would never call them 'average'. Their business relationship began with an element of animosity and the lure of information about her siblings. It has grown to include dinners, games of chess, life or death situations, candlelight, misunderstandings and fine wine. Perhaps he has been wooing her all this time and she didn't know how to react. Perhaps she has given him opportunities to open up and he was too uncertain to respond.

_"Max?"_

She swallows and makes a decision.

"Yes."

He takes a quick breath. _Probably counting_, she decides.

_"Are you… are you sure?"_

_This_ is why it has taken so long. They are very good at the side-step.

"Yeah, I'm sure, already." She smiles. "So, how 'bout we get this bitch over with so we can get on with our evening?"

_"Abso-lutely,"_ he says, and he sounds about as dazed as she does. He clears his throat. _"Well, I guess we'd better…_you'd_ better check out the room."_

"For the disc."

_"Right."_

"Logan?"

_"Max?"_

"This is real, isn't it?"

He pauses.

_"Our conversation? Yes."_

"You're not gonna change your mind or have sudden amnesia or anything when I get back to the car, right?"

_"Max,"_ he says gently. _"We've come this far. The last thing I'm going to do is forget what we've said here tonight." _

She folds her arms over her chest and squeezes to contain the sigh that threatens to overwhelm her when she hears his voice. _He could be reading the telephone book, _she thinks, _and I'd be turned on._

She wonders how sad it is to wish there was a 'phone book handy.

_Nah,_ she decides, shaking her arms out and rolling her head from shoulder to shoulder. _Just get this done and get to Logan and see if he can still drive when I'm finished with him. I'll get in, straddle his lap, push the driver's seat back, and kiss him so hard he won't be able to see straight for days._

She grins.

Assuming I let him up for air… 

"Good." Her voice is mischievous and she can imagine him suddenly alert in his seat, wary. Her grin widens wickedly. _What will Original Cindy say when I tell her about this game?_ _Probably leave her speechless._

"So…"

"So…" 

"'Truth or Dare', hotboy?"

* * *


	6. Thoughts in the Dark: Chapter Six

**March 15, 2005: I'm going to take the opportunity to thank all of the readers for their feedback. It keeps me - and this story - going. :)**

**Thank you, Alaidh, for Betaing once more. :)**

_April 18, 2005: Apologies for the delay in posting. My Beta has been extremely busy with Real Life, but with any luck, my next post will be sooner rather than later. Many thanks to her again for all her hard work. :)_

_Now if only FFN will let me post... I'll try again tomorrow. _

_And just so you know, this _**isn't** _the last chapter… ;)_

_Enjoy!_

**Thoughts in the Dark **

**Chapter 6**

Logan is gaping like a fish.

_Hotboy? Did she just call me 'hotboy'?_

He knows he shouldn't be stuck for words - not the _great_ Eyes Only - but her voice just shot through all his erogenous zones and he can't speak. He knows he decided to be Logan Cale, Cyber journalist-About-Town, for this game. _Only human._ There are so many ways he could respond to Max and yet he feels none of his options would be sufficient.

Sanity has fled and he's left to fend for himself

"The - the disc is supposed to be on a shelf," he stammers instead, and wonders why he sounds like he's fourteen again. Wonders why her chuckle at his change in topic makes his skin tingle.

Wonders if this would qualify as telephone sex.

_"I see a shelf and a desk and a chair."_

She's mimicking the deliberate speech pattern of the female host of a pre-school show that airs very early weekday mornings in Seattle. She was watching it at his apartment this morning, wide-awake and bored with the news. He could hear it while he mentally thrashed around the office, teasing the edges of his mind with memories of a distant childhood as he drained his computer of information on the case and desperately waited for the coffee to brew. He can hear her shuffling something around now: books, pens, and paperweights from big box stores that disappeared with the Pulse.

_"I do not see a disc. Maybe Mr. Teddy knows where it is?"_

"Mr. Teddy, Special Agent." Logan smiles. "It could work."

Max snorts. _"I've always wondered about him, and how he disappears just before the male host reappears."_ Her tone is mock seriousness. _"Very suspicious."_

"I'll add it to my list of 'Things to Do'."

_"With Eyes Only on the job, we'll have answers in no time flat."_

Logan is relieved. The easy rhythm of their friendship has returned. It burns brighter in his mind with the knowledge that they are also something more than 'just friends' now.

He chooses not to respond to the game until they've sorted this out.

"Does it look like anyone has been in the room before you?"

There's a pause and he can imagine her turning in a circle, carefully studying the floor for footprints in the dust or any other sign of recent life.

_"Actually, that would be 'no'."_

Logan sighs. He's suddenly clenching his jaw again. He can't wait for this mission to be concluded and yet obstacles are dropping into their path like rocks in an avalanche: dodge one, get hit by another. He pinches the skin between his eyes, just above his glasses. Why is this happening? What's gone wrong? "Try another door, then, I guess."

_"Sure."_ He hears the door creak and a lock click behind her. Rule Number Seventeen: Leave things as you find them. _"Should I go back and try Door Number One? Number Two? Or move down the hall to Number Four?"_

He knows she is trying to keep it light, trying to prevent him from dwelling on the disc that _isn't _where it should be in the room that _hasn't_ been used recently. He stares at the information in the last e-mail from one of his more reliable informants: 'Office on the second floor, second door on the left coming from the first floor.'

Which makes it third door on the right if you're coming from the third floor… 

Logan reviews the facts. The man who arrived at the building matched the description and photo they have of a known lackey. He was dropping the disc off at this location for someone else to collect around midnight. He's only a minor player but irritating to let go, nonetheless, like sand you can't ever remove completely from your shorts. Eyes Only is here to intervene and take the disc for himself and have his broadcast and dinner completed before eleven tonight.

True, he has enough information without it, but this will be such a sweet addition. He couldn't resist when he read the e-mail. And now, they're stuck. _Damn._

All he wants to do is hold Max in his arms and kiss her with the passion that has been building since she first stood before him, clad in leather and attitude, her beauty piercing his soul even in the weak beam of his flashlight.

My angel… 

"Use your discretion," he says, glancing in the rear-view mirror again to remind himself why he does these missions, goes on a focussed pursuit of the bad guys. Sometimes he is so driven that his health suffers and an extra strain is placed on his friendships. Stan Lee's voice whispers tantalizingly in his head: 'Welcome back, True Believer'. It's been a while since he's seen the cartoons he watched as a boy or read the comics he used to collect, hidden under his bed so his father wouldn't see. He tips his chin down so he can see his eyes and silently confers with his alter ego for a reason.

_"Door Number One."_ Her voice doesn't startle him but it does draw him out of his moment of doubt. _"Open and empty, unless you count some old Chinese take-out containers."_

"Food," he says, doing his best to return to their usual banter. "Don't remind me."

_"Not my fault if you didn't grab somethin' before we left."_ He grunts but refrains from commenting.

The door closes and a moment later she says: _"Nothin' in here, either."_

"Which one was that?"

_"Number Two."_ A few seconds later: _"And Door Number Four is also a big bust."_

"Max?"

_"Yeah?"_

"The three rooms you just checked weren't locked, were they?"

_"No…"_

"Just the room we were directed to."

_"Right."_

He tries to ignore the horrible feeling as it coils and shifts in the pit of his stomach.

"How quickly can you check the offices on the other side of the hall?"

_"Just a sec."_ Logan knows how difficult it is to follow her progress when she moves this way. _Like the Flash,_ he thinks, and recalls that particular super hero had quite the appetite, too. Manticore didn't create this generation of super soldiers to go slow. He checks his e-mail again. Nothing new. He looks at the street outside the Aztek. Deserted.

_"Done."_

This time, he does jump a little in his seat. "And?"

_"Nothin'. This is screwy." _She doesn't sound frustrated yet, just puzzled.

"Can you do a check on the first floor?"

_"Sure."_

"And Max?"

_"Yeah?"_

"Be careful. Something isn't right."

She laughs as she jogs down the stairs. He can barely identify the sound of her boots as she descends. _"What, Spider-sense tingling?"_

"Something like that."

_"Looks pretty boring down here, too. Gonna check the lobby."_

"Right."

_"So, do I get the secret decoder ring when this bitch is done?"_

"I'll see what I can do." The image of Max in a Lycra jumpsuit and mask briefly shifts his focus from the panic he's fighting.

_"Nothin' here, either."_ She sighs heavily. "_There's a few doors, though, so I'm gonna check 'em out."_ He hears one open. _"Nada."_ Either she doesn't bother to close it or he misses that part. Another. _"Hmmm… A chandelier I could fence for a few bucks if I can unbolt it from the ceiling."_

"Don't tell me about your other activities," he manages. "The less I know, the less they'll be able to get out of me under torture."

She's opened another door but doesn't say anything for ten seconds, if he's counting correctly. He can't take this any longer. "Max?"

_"There's a man here,"_ she says flatly. He tenses immediately, silently cursing himself for having missed something that led to this moment. He catches the sound of her leather, of other material shifting, guesses she's turning him over. _"He's been stabbed. He isn't dead but he will be if we don't get him to a doctor pretty quick. And Logan?"_

"Yes?"

She hesitates. _"It's our guy."_

"What?"

_"It's him. The one who came in that excuse for transportation. He was wearing a denim jacket but it's gone."_

"Let me guess. The guy you saw getting into the car was wearing the jacket."

_"Yep. No knife, wrong angle, so not self-inflicted. My guess?"_

Logan can hear his teeth grinding. "Someone was waiting for him."

_"Yep. Hang on." _He wonders what she's seen. Wonders what they're going to do about the dying man.

Wonders if there was ever a disc in the first place…

Something crawls over his skin, a wave of horror and disbelief that almost renders him mute. _Not like this…_

"Get out of there."

_"Well, I found a disc. It was on the shelf. Maybe it's the one. The other guy probably didn't have a chance to check for it."_

"Max -"

_"Hey, guess what?"_

"I'll guess later," he says sharply. "I want you out of there, now."

He hears a rustle of paper.

_"One of your posters is on the desk. Well, not _you_, of course, but Eyes Only."_

"Max -"

_"Uh-oh."_

He's clenching his hands so tightly; his nails are going to leave imprints in his palms that might cut deep enough to bleed. He tries not to yell.

"What? 'Uh-oh' _what_?"

_"There's a word on the back of the paper."_ She's speaking very clearly, but not like the host from the children's show. She's speaking like someone who can't believe what she sees.

The volume of his voice increases out of exasperation and fear.

"Well, what does it say?"

Logan holds his breath, determined not to let anything interfere with clearly hearing what Max is about to reveal.

_"It says: 'Boom'."_

* * *


	7. Thoughts in the Dark: Chapter Seven

**February 21, 2005: Thanks again for all the reviews.**

**Alaidh, you continue to rock as a most amazing Beta. :)  
**

_**April 28, 2005: Alaidh had mighty computer issues this time around and was very busy. Despite the hurdles, she came through with her usual amazing Beta work. Thank you, once again.**_

_**I continue to delight in reading the reviews and appreciate your patience with the posting of chapters.**_

_**Enjoy!**_

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter 7**

"_It's a trap!"_

Max is already moving. With a speed she knows makes most people dizzy, she jams the disc and note inside the top of her leather jacket, lifts the man effortlessly into a fireman's carry and manages to clear the door without doing him any more damage.

"_Max!"_

"Kinda busy."

She pivots for the front, knowing it is the closest exit she has and stops.

When she was on the roof, she hadn't been able to tell if the padlock had slid home. She'd been distracted with a game usually played in the dark by teens over at someone's house while the parents are away. Now she performs a quick scan of the slender, tight wire across the main door, connected to the magnets at the top that will be pulled apart if the door is opened.

And the wires that run from there disappear into the ceiling to the floor above. The guy was waiting. He stabbed their stooge, set a charge and closed the door very carefully. She wonders why she didn't notice the wires before, wonders why she can't leave this excuse for a human being behind.

Wonders why she didn't tell Logan that she loves him while she had the chance.

_Too late now…_

"Front door is wired to blow," she says quickly. "Just as well we didn't come in that way. Probably would've triggered whatever they've got set up."

Then she smells the gas. Her gaze finds the door to the right, which probably goes to the basement.

"Damn. They opened the gas line, too."

_"Get out of there!"_

The main floor windows are barred and her cargo won't survive a jump from the second floor if she went through the glass from there. _Defenestration. _She smiles grimly, remembering Original Cindy's retelling of her night with Normal and the art goons, which hadn't been too bad until someone had been thrown from the window to his death.

There is only one other way to leave the building.

She hurries for the stairs.

"_The whole building is wired." _It isn't a question. He is used to her silences now; they contain volumes at times like this.

"Probably."

"_They're after _me_."_

Even with the extra weight, she can take the steps two at a time. It's nothing compared with the heavy guilt she can hear in Logan's voice.

"They're after _Eyes Only_," she grunts. She tries not to think about what would've happened if _she_ weren't doing the breaking and entering. If she'd never been a part of his life and he'd never been shot. Logan Cale, self-proclaimed protector of Seattle, retrieving his precious evidence and walking straight to his death.

She reaches the second floor. The man's blood will probably stain her jacket and you can never get that out.

_Defenestration…_

"What I wouldn't give to do that to you right now," she tells her burden. It would release some of her anger and regret. She can't do it, though. Logan has infected her with his do-gooder approach to life, which is blinding even through his sarcasm and pessimism: Justice wielding a sword of flame.

_Even Batman saved the Joker_, she thinks, having read some of Logan's comics from when he was a kid. At least, she figures they belong to him. It's amazing what you can find in the back of a closet at three in the morning when there's nothing on television…

"_Do what right now?"_

"Wasn't talkin' to you."

"_Where are you?"_

She takes the stairs to the third floor and doesn't answer. She can see the wires on the wall now that she knows what to look for: very thorough.

"_Max! Respond!"_

Logan's voice is shaded with an interesting blend of panic and drill sergeant.

"I'm headin' up," she says and blurs along the hall of the third floor, not daring to pause until she's conquered the narrow stairs and kicking open the door at the top - the lock she so carefully picked not ten minutes before. "I'm out. Lookin' for a way off the building." She knows there are no fire escapes. No, that would be too easy. The night is still cold but no longer clear. She can't see any stars but the brightest now.

They couldn't count on him coming in the front door. Is there a timer? Or is someone watching the building, waiting to push a button that will trigger the explosives? Timer makes sense. Probably set to go off once Eyes Only was somewhere in the middle of the building, far from an exit. Her lack of vigilance earlier, assuming no one knew Eyes Only was coming, is adding another layer to her anger.

"_Can you make the nearest roof?"_

"I'm not alone."

"_What?"_ Incredulity has joined the controlled panic.

"I've got your stooge, for what it's worth. Maybe we can wring some info from him and get somethin' outta this mess." Her grin is feral. It's a pity and a blessing Logan can't be witness. "Maybe we can withhold medical care until he blabs." She checks another side of the building and gauges the drop. She knows the anger is being focussed in her voice and hopes the delight she hears at the prospect of torturing someone doesn't register with Logan.

"_Leave him."_

She almost loses her grip on the man.

"What?"

"_Leave him. Now."_

"But he's a link to these guys!"

"_I don't care anymore. Go!"_

What is wrong with him? Can't he see how useful this guy could be? _Assuming he doesn't bleed to death…_

"Ain't gonna happen." She knows she can make the roof on the north side, even though it's about a fifteen-foot span and a story shorter. She isn't sure about her burden. "We need him."

"_I need _you_,"_ is the terse reply. He isn't quite shouting. _"And I am _not_ going to risk your life for some third-rate criminal who barely contributes to the economy and will probably do better contributing to the ecosystem."_

She can hear him starting the engine, muttering as he pushes the laptop onto the seat beside him.

"I can make it to the roof of the north building."

"_Max. Listen to me."_ What little patience he owns has been wrung dry. She can tell by his tone that he isn't speaking to her as if she were a child. He is addressing the soldier she used to be. _Smart man._ _"If bringing our 'friend' is in any way going to reduce your chances of reaching that roof, I want you to leave him."_

"I can make it with him," Max says firmly. "But I don't know if he'll survive the landing."

The engine revs in the background. _"Then do it and get to the ground. I'm coming."_

She can hear the tires squeal as he heads for the intersection of McCauley and Smith, taking the first corner at a higher speed than the manufacturer of the Aztek would probably recommend.

_Move…_

Because of the man, she takes a few steps back and runs at the edge.

She is in flight - a wingless angel dropping from the sky with a grace denied most creatures. The soul she carries quietly slips away, surprised to discover that Death really is only a beginning.

Max lands harder than usual, but she expected that. She partially loses her hold on the man, only to discover that she's carrying a body now. He died while she was crossing. She lowers him onto his back, thankful his eyes are closed. _Fitting,_ she thinks, wondering when she became so lyrical. Wondering if the Greek myth she's read about is real and hoping he has enough change in his pocket for the ferry.

Wondering what her life would have been like without Logan.

"_Max - "_

"I'm gonna jump to the next building north, get as far away as I can."

_"Max - "_

"We probably don't have much time," she says, assessing the distance to the other building. It's substantially more than fifteen feet. If there's an explosion and she's still on this roof, even though it's the structure next to her that's rigged, she'll never know what a relationship with Logan will be like, and that gets her adrenaline pumping. "Only enough so you'd be so far in the building that there'd be no chance to escape."

"_I'm nearly there."_

She can see the Aztek taking the corner to the north, heedless of the strain on the vehicle.

"Logan, stop. You're not gonna make it!"

_"I am _not_ leaving you, Max!"_

"Just stay back or you'll be killed. I'll see you when the dust settles."

_"Max!"_

And she runs across the rooftop and launches herself into the darkness. It embraces her, protects her and the wind grants her an extra boon to reach her target.

She realizes she isn't going to make the roof. Instead, she crashes through a glass window on the second floor that mercifully isn't barred and tumbles into a dark, cold room. Her head smashes into a table and deflects her planned, graceful landing.

Max twists and comes to a hard stop against the far wall, crumpled at the base, plaster dust showering her like icing sugar. The floor is littered with old newspapers that no one ever bothered to read.

The last thing she hears before the explosion is Logan's voice, anxious and determined, yelling her name.


	8. Thoughts in the Dark: Chapter Eight

**March 17, 2005: My continued thanks to Alaidh for being my Beta through this adventure.**

**Your reviews are greatly appreciated. I hope those who started reading this story are still with me; I know I'm having a blast writing it.**

**Uh, no pun intended… ;)**

**Cheers!**

_May 6, 2005: Hmmm, a bit behind again. Sigh. This chapter is a bit longer than some of the previous ones. Hope you don't mind. I try to keep up with it all and am determined to prevail…_

_My thanks also to my Beloved, who has provided his special touch to the conclusion of this chapter._

_I'll try to post the next chapter sooner rather than later._

_Enjoy!_

**_Friday, May 13, 2005: Let's celebrate the end of the work week:)_**

****

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Eight**

He realizes he isn't going to make it.

He can continue to drive towards the building but, if someone has rigged it as thoroughly as Max says, he'll only succeed in getting himself killed.

And that won't help anyone, least of all Max.

_Max…_

He brakes hard, ignoring the sound of his SUV as it protests the sudden stop, and scans the rooftops. Putting the vehicle into reverse, he activates the accelerator so sharply the tires spin. The frame hasn't finished dealing with the halt and joins the shocks in sending a complaint.

Logan witnesses a shadow separate itself from the darkness, a stray cat stalking the night, leaping from the two-story building next to the target building.

"Max!"

He is moving in reverse now, gaining speed, but it isn't enough.

The roar sounds muffled initially, like a series of large fireworks igniting over the bay, then the windows shatter and the structure comes apart, spreading debris and taking the buildings on either side down with it. Seconds later, a fireball extends outward to embrace anything within a two hundred foot radius: the gas line.

The shockwave hits the SUV and slams it sideways, effortless, as if it were a toy. A chunk of bricks, still mortared together, crunch into the hood from the force of the explosion. The vehicle starts to spin. There is no way to influence his direction so Logan braces himself, inevitably reminded of a theme park ride when he was ten years old. Children around him had screamed, delighted, as they were moving backwards and up and down. All the food consumed on the Midway had landed on the pavement the moment he'd dragged himself clear of the ride.

Logan clenches his jaw and bares his teeth as he spins uncontrollably. He wonders whether or not the Aztek will be flipped. Wonders if the airbag will be activated.

Wonders if even an X-5 can survive something like this.

"Max!"

No response.

The vehicle is still moving as he yells into the headset. His computer has been flung to the floor on the passenger side and he has no idea if it still works. He spots his gloves on the floor beside it but, at the moment, he doesn't really care.

There is a crash behind him and a loud thunk to his right. He can't move his head but notes the projectile in the corner of his vision. It has entered through his rear window and impaled itself through the back of the passenger seat, but his mind can't register what it used to be. The fireball dances around him briefly before receding, leaving him safe inside.

The Aztek finally runs out of momentum and he finds himself back at the intersection of McCauley and Smith, in the middle of the road, facing west. Debris starts to land on the roof with varying intensity, depending on the weight of the object. Just a few at first then at an alarming rate that makes him feel like he's in a hailstorm. All he can do is sit and wait it out - and hope nothing too heavy impacts with the vehicle. He can envision the craters that will leave the roof resembling the surface of the moon and doesn't bother to run the numbers on how much the bodywork will cost. He takes a few moments to control his breathing, to count his fingers.

He doubts thirty seconds have passed.

His neck hurts when he turns south to look out his window at what remains of 48 McCauley Street.

The sight sends him fumbling with his door and reaching for his wheelchair. Then he stops and takes in the debris on the road, the newspapers and garbage floating from the sky like snow; the trees along the sidewalks, sad, struggling plants that were now flaming torches.

He can't navigate this, not from here. Once he knows where he's going, he'll drive as close as he can before trying the wheelchair.

Assuming his vehicle will start.

Assuming his vehicle can get through the rubble.

_No use to her if I'm dead…_

"Max! Max, can you hear me?"

He is greeted by a quiet hissing sound. This means they might still be connected and his headset is at least transmitting. He hopes. He doesn't know if she can receive. He doesn't know her status -

_What a soldierly assessment_, he thinks grimly. _Status. Damn, damn, damn…_

"Max!"

He studies the area, hopeful a figure will emerge from the darkness, saunter over to him, and quip something witty with that sultry smile she has given him a few times before.

Something like: "Betcha thought you'd get outta makin' dinner."

Or maybe: "You can't get rid of me that easily."

Perhaps she'll open his door and not say a word. Take his head in her hands and kiss him until he can no longer breathe. Then she'll release him and whisper in his ear what she wants for dessert.

And Logan knows he'll give her anything she asks…

"Max! Please respond!"

Nothing. He smacks his steering wheel hard out of frustration

_Damn._ He reaches over and grabs his gloves, pulling them on hastily.

"I'm going to keep talking, Max," he says, taking in the chaos around him but not really seeing it properly. Glass from the windows of all the buildings on the block litters the sidewalks. Part of a building across the road from the target has caught fire. He doesn't really care. All he wants is that lovely young woman who broke through his solitude and made him feel alive again.

He tries the Aztek and the engine shudders and groans. He wryly notes the 'check engine' light is on. He tries again and this time receives a rather throaty purr as it starts. Miraculous. Blessings for the creators at General Motors pass his lips. Bonuses are mentally promised for the kids at the garage who have kept her running in spite of a few harrowing Eyes Only encounters. Only one of his headlights survived and his solitary high beam shows nothing but dust. He keeps it focussed on the road and carefully navigates his way as close to 44 McCauley as he dares. That's where he last saw her, so that's where he starts.

It smells sulphurous and acrid and Logan coughs as he assembles his wheelchair. Between the bleak, charred surroundings, the cold night air and the intensity of the fire, he feels he is qualified to propose what the orifice to Hell might be like, or maybe even as far inside that domain as the coat check. He should probably be covering his nose and mouth, but he can't do that and move at the same time.

"I don't know if you can hear me, Max," he continues, transferring to the chair. "But I want you to know that I'm just outside where I last saw you, and - and that… I'm on my way." His voice sounds mostly calm, though he finds he's stammering a bit. Man in a wheelchair - the hero to the rescue.

_Yeah. Right._

He tries not to be bitter and focusses on the task at hand. The first aid kit and flashlight are tugged from under the front seat and placed on his lap. His breath puffs in cold clouds before him as he closes the door. He isn't sure why he bothers with the door at all. The Aztek is hardly in danger of being stolen right now.

He wheels slowly, carefully, towards the building, his eyes stinging. The structure is still intact, as far as he can tell; this one is located two doors north of the explosion, after all. Thankfully, the door isn't locked and he only has to do a small wheelie to get inside. There's damage, though, which is more visible as he crosses the threshold.

The windows on the south side have shattered and he can feel the heat of the flames as the wall across the alley burns, bringing some light to the room as well. Glass lies like glinting gems across the floor. He blinks and stops just shy of the stairs that lead to the second level, locking his brakes. The flashlight comes on and reveals very little of interest, unless remnants of litter from the pre-Pulse world are worthy of study.

Old newspapers, a broken chair and signs of rats, which, no doubt, scurried for safer cover at the first rumble. Dust.

Logan moves the light quickly around the room.

A television with a smashed screen and a broken floor lamp, snapped roughly in half, are added to the catalogue of 'stuff'.

With only two floors - Logan looks to the far left and sees a door that could go to a basement - there isn't an elevator, and even if there were, it probably wouldn't be functional. If he's going to continue his search, he'll have to do it the hard way.

_Damn, damn, damn…_

"I'm in the building, the one I saw you jumping for before… before the bomb went off. Did you - did you see what happened when the gas took effect?" He pulls the zipper down on his jacket, switches off the flashlight and tucks it inside, pulling the zipper up again. "Whoosh! Quite the show." He wonders whom he's trying to reassure here. He slides from the wheelchair to the third step. There he pauses to undo his belt and thread the handle of the first aid kit through it. As soon as the buckle clicks, his gloved hands are behind him and he begins the arduous task of climbing the stairs.

"I'm still here," he says, feeling repetitive, but engaging conversation isn't very high on his agenda right now. He tries to sound upbeat as he grunts about halfway up and has to stop. The image of Max, injured, bleeding, dying, kept him going at a fast pace but now his energy is flagging. His arms hurt. The upper body strength has definitely improved since he found himself stranded in a wheelchair, but he's running on adrenalin, will power and an empty stomach.

_If Bling could see me now…_

Logan isn't sure if his friend would laugh or cry.

_Damn, damn, damn…_

He drags himself up a few more steps, silently cursing the builders, his face tense, sweat pooling at the base of his neck and trickling down his back.

"I'm almost at the top of the stairs," he rasps, and doesn't have the energy to laugh at himself. He's winded, exhausted, can barely speak after so little exertion. Stairs he would have taken two steps at a time are defeating him. A pulse of pain and despair beats into his head and tightens like a vice. He doesn't even know if she made it to this building, and if she did, she might be on the roof and not the second floor.

Or buried somewhere in the brick and mortar and smoke that is all that remains of the building next door.

He isn't going to think about it.

He isn't going to think at all.

Just _do_.

Just _talk_.

_No_, he amends as he tries to heave himself up another step. _Must stop for just another minute._

"I have to stop for a minute," Logan says, apologizing to dead air. _Don't' use that word_, he tells himself harshly. _She isn't dead, she _can't_ be dead…_ "Just need to catch my breath. So… I don't know if you can hear me at all and it's… difficult to play 'Truth or Dare' by yourself." He swallows, his breathing returning to something bordering on calm, normal. "So, I'm going to tell you a joke. Stop me if you've heard this one." He smiles a bit, imagining her response. He isn't very good at telling jokes at the best of times.

Silence.

His smile dies, stillborn. These are not the best of times.

Logan heaves himself up two more steps. _All these damn stairs..._

_Stairs. That's it._ He clears his throat, wishing he had some water.

"Pay attention, Max, it's a long one. Once, there was a guy who liked bell towers. He flew to the Notre Dame Cathedral in France, to see the bells there. It took him forever to climb all those stairs to the top… just like this… and when he got there, dizzy and winded, he got hit by a bell and knocked out a window. He fell to his..." No. He isn't going to say it. "Fell all the way down, Max."

"A crowd gathered at the place he hit the ground, and a policeman asked, 'Does anybody know this man?' Quasimodo staggered out from the cathedral, and said, 'I don't know his name…'"

Logan waits, just in case. All he can hear is the fire consuming the building beside them.

"'… but his face rings a bell!'"

Nothing.

"You're a tough room, Max. Okay, so a year later, his twin brother flies to France to find out what happened. He traces his brother's steps to the cathedral, climbs all these damn - sorry, _those_ damn stairs - and gets to the top - winded and confused, like his brother." Logan drags himself onto the landing and through the nearest open doorway, concerned if he stops again he won't be able to go on. He stares at the shattered window, the broken furniture. "Sorta like me, now. Anyhow, he gets smacked in the face with a bell and sent right out the same window. _Crash._ The same policeman comes to the scene, and asks Quasimodo, 'I don't suppose you know _this_ one?' Quasimodo, he says… he says, 'I'm not sure, but...'"

Logan pauses, sags. He was so hopeful. Maybe the connection is broken and she can't hear him at all. Maybe he just can't tell a good joke.

He lets his chin drop to his chest and closes his eyes tightly, fighting the rising despair. He takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. The pain in his chest has become unbearable and a certainty of loss overwhelms his senses.

Maybe he'll just stay right here, leaning against the door on the second floor of an unstable building because if Max is gone, there's no reason for him to bother going back down those stairs…

_"… but he's a dead ringer for the other one?"_ Her voice is weak, but he hears it simultaneously over his headset and coming from further inside the room. _"Ow. D-Don't quit your day job."_

Able to breathe again, Logan starts to laugh.


	9. Thoughts in the Dark: Chapter Nine

**May 13, 2005: Scribble, scribble… Must get another chapter done… **

**Thank you, Alaidh, for continuing to perform your Beta skills with this story. :)  
**

_May 28, 2005: To celebrate the long weekend in the United States, I thought I'd post the next instalment sooner rather than later._

_Which I can do now that my Beloved has replaced our dead router…_

_I have written more chapters, but I'm curious about an outside perspective. Should there be more? Or should it end here? _

_I'd love nothing better than to share the direction I want to take this in. I'm having a wonderful time writing it - and yes, it _has_ gone in directions I didn't anticipate at the beginning - but as several have mentioned, it _does_ have to end sometime. I don't want it to end… (sigh)_

_And should there be a sequel when it _does_ end?_

_So, have a read and let me know what you think._

_Enjoy!_

**Thoughts in the Dark **

**Chapter Nine**

She realizes she is still breathing.

At first she wonders if it's an illusion, wonders if the dead go through the motions of breathing out of habit, not realizing that it no longer matters.

Wonders why her head hurts so much.

_If I'm dead_, she thinks fuzzily, _I shouldn't be feeling any pain, right__? Isn't that how it works?_

She isn't an expert on the Afterlife, and if Herbal ever shared his philosophy on Death, she can't remember it now.

She tries to open her eyes but the results are under whelming. It takes effort, and since everything hurts - especially her head - she decides she doesn't want to look around her, not yet. She'll rest for a minute, then open her eyes. Just a minute. Breathe.

She can do that, lie here, and breathe.

If that's all she has to do then she can handle that just fine.

Just for a minute.

Just a minute.

_A minute -_

Her body jerks and she realizes she's drifting. She knows she must _not_ fall asleep. Falling asleep and head injury are a bad combination.

_Head injury. What happened?_

She lies immobile on the floor where she fell - mere moments or a lifetime ago, she isn't sure - surrounded by newspapers and broken glass and bits of old furniture. Plaster dust lies in wisps like blown sand across her black leather body. Her hair is covered, too, mixed and matted with blood from the gash on her left temple.

_I was running and… I was carrying someone but they died…_

Her head is throbbing and it makes the broken static in her right ear difficult to handle. She should probably do something about it, but that would require moving and she isn't going to move ever again.

_Static. What happened?_

It's taking her time to assess the situation, but she finally realizes there is a headset attached to her right ear.

_I was talking to someone… _

_Logan!_

She takes an involuntary deep breath and a soft whimper escapes. She's done something to her ribs. Her mind is racing beyond the pain. Was it Logan she was carrying? Is he dead?

_Nonononono -_

The static is gradually recognized as words and they interrupt her grief.

_"I'm still here…"_

_Logan!_

_"I'm almost at the top of the stairs…"_

The smell of the room is musty and she becomes aware that something nearby is burning.

_"… difficult to play 'Truth or Dare' by yourself."_

Why is it so hard to focus? She really should say something to Logan, let him know she's here. She opens her mouth to speak, but discovers language and the ability to utilize her vocal chords are concepts that elude her.

_Head injury. What happened?_

She recognizes that she's having difficulties: an unusual circumstance for her. She takes a few deep breaths and releases them carefully. _Ribs are just bruised,_ she decides, though that doesn't make them hurt any less. _My brain is scrambled. Gotta sort that out._ The best analogy she can think of involves the need to reboot a computer that has experienced the Blue Screen of Death. She decides Logan will appreciate the thought, if she can ever remember how to speak.

_"Pay attention, Max…"_

Max. Max. Max.

_That's me_, she thinks grimly, straining to follow what Logan is saying.

_"… he got hit by a bell and knocked out a window. He fell to his… He fell all the way down, Max."_

Max. Max. Max.

_That's me._

Logan is telling her a story about bells.

No. Wait. He's telling her a joke. Telling her a joke as he climbs the stairs to reach her. That much she can glean from his running commentary. He's trying to keep it light, but the strain and anxiety that are squeezing the edges of his words are palpable, living creatures. She can hear them in his voice, in his ragged breathing, can feel them in the fear that buzzes over the headset with every crunch of debris and muttered curse. Fear for her.

Fear for himself.

She really should say something. Her head is a little clearer now - though no less painful - and focussing on his words is preventing her from drifting into the muffled, grey zone of reality and nightmare.

Then she recognizes the joke. She first heard it from Sketchy about a year ago. He told it to her and Original Cindy - and anyone else within range that he thought was listening - at Crash one night, complete with impersonation of the famous hunchback.

_Amazing what people will do to get attention…_

Wait. Is she drifting again? He's stopped, just before the punch line. What is he waiting for? He hasn't forgotten it, has he? He seemed to be doing so well.

Max cautiously licks her lips, tastes dust, manages to speak.

"… but he's a dead ringer for the other one?" Her voice is weak but she's determined to be heard. "Ow. D-Don't quit your day job."

After a brief pause, Logan starts to laugh.

That's when she realizes they're in the same room.

She shifts her legs with some effort and rolls from her side onto her stomach. Plaster dust sifts to the floor with a whisper. Her ribs hurt and a groan escapes through her clenched teeth. The stench of old newspapers fills her nostrils and she gags but doesn't vomit.

"Max!"

Logan has obviously seen her. His gloves slap rhythmically on the floor as he moves closer, dragging the lower half of his body, negotiating obstacles and finally stopping. She carefully turns her head and opens her eyes.

A plush, brown bear the size of an adult human stares down at her, head cocked to one side, expression neutral. She frowns, puzzled by his presence. What's he doing here?

"Mr. Teddy? What're _you_ doin' here?" She has an idea. "Am I asleep? Is this the Dreamland Express?"

The bear's head moves alarmingly close and she quickly shuts her eyes.

"Max," Logan says softly and leather driving gloves skim her left temple. She winces slightly. "Sorry. I-I bet that hurts." He's doing something. She can hear a buckle click, a belt slide through pant loops. "I need you to roll over onto your back, if you can. No, wait! Can you tell if anything is broken? Can you… Can you feel your legs?"

She is certain that she can and proves it a few seconds later by pulling her knees up until they're underneath her hips, dragging newspapers into a bunch as a result, and willing the upper half of her body to slide back. She brings her arms in and hugs her knees, foetal position.

"Yeah," she says, answering his question, though the answer is obvious now. "My ribs hurt, though."

"Max, should you -"

"Just a sec."

She takes a deep breath and lifts her head. Her hands, palms flat, provide the leverage she needs to push herself upright.

Logan is there to catch her when she weaves to the right.

His strong arms hold her securely as her ribs protest the angle. She stretches her legs out to find a position that doesn't hurt and realizes she is lying against him now. She turns her head slightly and her cheek is resting against the cold zipper of his down jacket. Her nose rubs against the shiny material as he removes his right arm and uses it to slide backwards, his other arm pulling her with him. She doesn't feel she can do much to help so she doesn't try. This happens twice more before he stops and reaches for something with a heavy sigh.

"Max, I need to look at that head wound."

She can hear a click of metal and items clattering around in a container. Slowly, she opens her eyes. The only light in the room comes from a fire outside. She tugs her right hand free from where it is caught against his body and puts it on the floor by his left hip, encountering the base of a desk he is using for back support. She watches a small packet move passed her vision and there's a tearing sound as he opens it with his teeth. A moist cloth then gently cleans her wound. She doesn't flinch. Manticore didn't raise crybabies. It stings but she knows it's an iodine pad. Logan has brought the medical kit he keeps under the driver's seat.

"Ow," she says after a few minutes, more for something to say than due to any unbearable pain.

"Sorry."

A cool, numbing ointment is applied next then another package is torn open with his teeth: self-adhesive bandage.

She feels like a rag doll, substituting for an injured child during a hospital drill.

"I want to sit up," she says, not sure if she really does.

He applies the bandage and opens a bottle of painkillers, using both hands for the safety cap. He doesn't release his hold on her at any time.

"Can you dry swallow some pills?"

"Yeah…"

"Good. Take these." He finds her left hand and ensures two blue pills reach her palm securely. She manages to put them in her mouth and swallow.

"Logan -" Her head collides with the underside of his jaw and his teeth click loudly. "Sorry -"

"Max, I -"

He pulls his head back and she lifts her face to find his lips inches from hers. He becomes very still. She hesitates before looking into his eyes. Even in the low light she can see them clearly. Her creators made that possible. They are tired, worried, and red from the irritants created by the explosion.

Green. Piercing. Beautiful.

_Eyes Only._

The lenses of his glasses are smudged. His face is streaked with trails of sweat, visible in the fine dust that coats his skin. His lips are dry and as she watches, he licks them nervously.

Together, they take a quick breath and blurt: "I meant what I said."

There is a stunned silence, and then a smile teases the corners of his mouth.

Max is captivated. She glances at his eyes again then back to his mouth. Her head is throbbing with pain and her ribs ache but she knows that right now, she has to act.

They will never be _here_ again.

She shifts in his lap and leans the few remaining inches until her lips connect with his.

They have waited so long, performed an intricate dance with one another that would rival major choreographed productions at the theatre in Sector Seven. They each assumed it would never end or, if it did, that the outcome would be tragic for both of them - that they were fated never to be together for any longer than the brief existence of a candle flame.

Like Romeo and Juliet. Tony and Maria. Daredevil and Elektra.

And they both wonder: _Is this real?_

Max can sense Logan hesitate then his arms pull her closer and he returns her kiss with a passion that reminds her of their desperate embrace at the cabin, when she realized that she'd probably never see him again. Her heart aches to think of it, so she banishes the thought, blocks the pain and the dirt and the smells for the feel of his hand, which has shifted to grip the back of her head, his long fingers curling in her hair. She places her left palm against his cheek and feels the warmth of his skin through her glove, feels the tension in his jaw.

They pull away, reluctantly, breaths coming in short pants as they search the other's eyes. Expectant. Tentative. Hoping to see a reflection of their pain and joy and terror and love.

_And they do…_

Max blinks and smiles. Logan chuckles briefly.

As the building burns beside them, their lips meet once more.

After that, nothing is tentative.


	10. Chapter 10

**May 27, 2005: I guess Chapter Nine wasn't the last chapter after all. :)**

**My thanks to all of you who responded. Your input and support are appreciated. I'll write this story until it is done - and _then_ I'll write the sequel… ;)**

**Thanks again to Alaidh for Betaing. You rock:)  
**

**_June 6, 2005: Thanks to a very swift Beta job - hugs to Alaidh! - I'm posting now rather than later. I hope this story continues to tantalize your imagination…_**

**_Enjoy!_**

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Ten**

Logan knows they have to stop but he feels so giddy with her taste that he doesn't want to. She is candied cherries and heat and hope. She is alive and still talking to him and the pressure of her body pressed up against his chest has noticeably increased his heart rate. Even though he's wearing his down jacket, he can feel her shape and strength. Her mouth is insistent and he responds willingly, matching the demand. There is so much he wants to show her, to prove to her that he is worthy of her love and trust. To acknowledge to himself that he is allowed to be happy.

He wishes they were anywhere else but stuck in a building that has been structurally compromised.

Anywhere: the apartment, the Aztek, the nearest park bench, at the top of the Space Needle. _Yes, even there._ With Max in his life, he is fearless and unstoppable. At this point, he doesn't really care where they are as long as she's there beside him and he can touch her, remind himself that this is real.

Because a part of him isn't sure if he can trust the conversation they've been having. It isn't that he doubts her. There is no one to blame, no one at fault. He has the inescapable knowledge that private thoughts, whispered aloud in the dark, often sound different in daylight, and he's scared of losing her to the dawn.

His best friend.

_His angel…_

The sound of distant emergency vehicles draws them apart.

Max is flushed and her eyes are bright and she looks like she wants to eat him alive. She sighs, glances into the night, and turns back to him with a smile that would melt the hardest heart.

"We gotta get outta here," she murmurs.

"Yeah," he agrees.

Logan takes a moment to gently rub the tip of her nose with his. She responds by playfully sticking out her tongue and running it along his bottom lip, looking up at him through her lashes with dark eyes. He nearly loses his resolve and any amount of sanity that remains after a night like this. He swallows, reminds himself to breathe and braces her upper arms with his hands so she can carefully slide back, still on her hands and knees.

_Head injury_, Logan reminds himself. They have to get somewhere with better light, more bandages, and a safe place to rest and think about their next move.

"Ow."

"What hurts the most?" He has difficulty looking away from her face, even though his visibility is sadly restricted. There was a time when he thought he'd never see her again, and every day since her return to provide him with a life-saving blood transfusion has been sweet torture. Every time the telephone rings, he hopes it's her but braces himself for disappointment. His anticipation of her arrival at his apartment, slinking through the front door, looking for food, is framed with the terror that she'll leave and never come back.

Logan gives his head a quick shake. He needs to focus on getting them to safety - and out of the area before the police arrive. He can imagine the difficult conversation that will occur if they're caught.

_Officer Dan: "So, folks, care to tell me exactly what you were doing here?"_

_Max: "We were gonna meet a guy about an apartment."_

_Logan: "We stopped at the intersection and our cat jumped out. Have you seen a small tabby?"_

_Max: "We were on a mission for Eyes Only and it went sideways."_

_Logan: "I drove out here so someone could make an attempt on my life."_

_Officer Dan: "Oh, well. That's all right, then. Have a good evening, folks."_

"What doesn't hurt?" Max says, and he snaps his attention back to the room.

"Right. Well." He closes the medical kit and slides his belt back through the handle, tying it securely to the loop on his right hip rather than rethreading the buckle.

"Well."

There is an awkward pause. Max tries to stand and stumbles like a day-old kitten.

"Max, no." She stops. There is no glare sent his way in response to his protectiveness.

"Just a little dizzy," she says, and gives him a wicked smile. "What was in that kiss?"

He's glad it's dark because he can feel the blush creeping up his neck. He nearly groans out loud when he remembers she can probably see it anyway, and his cheeks burn in response.

"I'll go down the stairs first," Logan says firmly and heads toward the landing at a steady pace. Some newspapers are caught under his calves and he brings them along, unwilling to stop to dislodge them. His left leg catches on something but he gives a tug with one hand and he's free. He has to get them out of here. The urgency to leave has given him a boost of adrenaline and he has to ride it while he can. "You come right behind me and use my shoulders as a brace." Max stares at him, watching him cross the floor, as if uncertain what to do next.

_Head injury_. Even an X-5 has to take the time to recover from something like that.

"I'd… crawl if I were you," he suggests. She hesitates then does so, reaching the landing by a slightly different route around the same time he does.

Logan positions himself sideways, back against the wall and drags his legs so his feet rest on the third step from the top, pushing the papers out of the way. He turns to face the main floor, in line with his legs.

"Wait," he says and lowers his upper body to the first step, second step, before pausing to move his legs ahead of him. The medical kit clunks down awkwardly to his right. He moves to the third step and stops. "Okay, sit on your bottom and put your hands on my shoulders."

Max complies without a word. Her feet shuffle in front of her and she arranges her legs on either side of his body. She slides down the first step and lets her forehead rest for a minute on the top of his head.

"I-I'm not sure how else to do this, Max," he says apologetically.

"I know." Her breath is warm on his skull.

"Next step." She does. "Good." He realizes that if she were to fold her legs, they'd wrap around his waist. He takes a few deep breaths through his nose, instructing his libido to think of cold water. Now isn't the time for intimate thoughts. They can wait for later, once they're clear of the destruction

_Assuming Max doesn't regret what she said._ He swiftly squashes that fear. He has looked into her eyes, seen her love for him and recognized it as the Truth.

They continue like this to the bottom, step by agonizing step, increasing the speed of their progress in silent agreement as they hear the sirens get closer.

Logan transfers to his wheelchair. Max stands but keeps her hands on his shoulders. He unlocks his breaks and manoeuvres the wheelchair back through the broken past as quickly as he dares, not wanting her to lose her balance. They make it outside and the heat and smell and noise of the devastation envelops them.

Logan coughs as he unlocks the Aztek and slips inside, absently dismantling his wheelchair and shoving it in the back seat. He's tired, but that's to be expected. He knows he has enough energy to get them home.

Max leans heavily on the car as she walks around the front, taking in the bricks on the hood and noticeably gaping at the steel pole that has violated the back window and front passenger seat. He sees her look through the window at the end of the pole that is sticking out.

"'McCauley and Horner'," she says, reading the twisted metal - the intersection just south of a series of buildings that no longer exist.

"Get in," Logan says tersely, and starts the SUV.

Max stares at him.

"Won't we be a little conspicuous with a street sign stickin' outta the back window?"

At least she sounds better.

"Do we have another choice?"

She sighs and gingerly slides onto the seat, the upper half of her body staying on the door side of the pole, her feet resting on his laptop. She closes the door firmly and doesn't try to operate her seat belt.

Logan performs a three-point turn and drives the Aztek north, going west onto Smith Street, the direction taken by the Honda Civic when it fled the area. He takes one last look in the rear-view mirror at the spreading fire then navigates through the night, one headlight revealing quiet neighbourhoods, some well heeled, some abandoned, always avoiding the more frequently used routes.

After ten minutes of driving, he decides he can't return to his apartment; the damage to the vehicle is just too severe. Logan is rapidly being seduced by the need to rest and knows he won't be able to drive much longer. He glances at Max, catches her watching him. He can't take her to the hospital; the risk of alerting Manticore is too great.

She must wonder what they are going to do next, wonder where they're going.

Wonder if she's ever going to get that promised linguine.

A sputtering streetlight on the corner grabs his wandering attention. It illuminates a sign not unlike the one currently bonding with the Aztek, and Logan knows exactly where they are.

He turns sharply at the intersection, causing Max to brace herself against the door.

"Hey!" she protests. "Injured here."

"Sorry."

A few moments later, they pull into the driveway of a split-level house with a deep carport. The numbers are bolted securely to the brick above the front door: 1742.

"Safe house," Logan says by way of explanation, parking the vehicle as far in the carport as possible to prevent nosey neighbours from seeing the damage. There is a working streetlamp across the road and it provides a faint light. He might make it without knocking into anything. The driver's side is closest to the side door so that's a blessing for him. He reaches for his wheelchair, riding on automatic. If he keeps moving, he might get through the night or, at the very least, get into the house and make certain her wounds are properly treated. Beside him, Max opens the passenger door and uses it as a crutch to steady herself.

He tries to focus on assembling his wheelchair but he's clearly distracted by Max's injury and is having trouble with his hands. His mind is racing. Has he kept the safe house fully stocked? Will there be enough medical supplies to ensure she heals properly? Will there be enough food? He wishes he could remember. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and opens them to find Max there, leaning on his door, frowning slightly.

"Having some trouble here," Logan says, keeping it light. Why are his hands shaking? He doesn't argue when she takes over the task. Those pain killers - and her rapid healing ability - must be kicking in.

Maybe he should take some of those pills himself -

"Okay."

He blinks up at her, at first confused about the topic. Then he realizes she's finished with the assembly and he shifts so he can transfer. Once settled, he grips the tops of the wheels tightly. _Man, what is going on?_

When he doesn't move, Max reaches down and lifts his legs just enough so that his shoes are on the foot rests. She straightens and stares at the glove of her right hand, as if she is having trouble registering something.

"Oh my god."

"What?"

Max uses her free hand to grip his right shoulder. He looks at her then follows her gaze.

The light is weak but he can see something shiny on her glove, some sort of fluid.

Blood. _His_ blood -

"Ah," he says weakly, and closes his eyes again when the ground moves.

"Logan!"

Of course. He dragged himself through debris to reach Max and wouldn't know if he was injuring himself in the process. He recalls his left leg catching on something as he headed for the stairs. Something sharp sticking out of the floor, he guesses. The bottom half of him is dead to pain. Dead to every sensation.

He is vaguely aware that Max is shaking him insistently.

"Logan, where's the key?" He isn't sure what key she's referring to and licks his lips, trying to remember. "The side door -" She gestures behind her to the dim outline of the wooden door. "- is locked. Where is the key? Or are you gonna make a starvin' girl pick the lock?"

He thinks that is an attempt at humour. She's trying to keep him grounded, focussed.

When did she leave him to check the side door?

"Under the gnome," he manages, and rubs his forehead with his hand. He can't have lost that much blood, just enough to make him dizzy. He hopes there won't be a scar then chuckles at his vanity. Like it matters. Like anyone is ever going to see his legs other than Bling or Sam Carr and his surgical team. He absently, carefully, looks around him. If he moves his head too much, he's disoriented.

Someone in black leather is muttering by the flowerbed, something about having too many gnomes and didn't little old ladies collect them. It could be anyone in the dark, but he figures its Max. The likelihood of it being someone else is extremely slim. He hears a triumphant "Yes!" then watches as the side door opens and a light comes on, revealing a kitchen with green linoleum flooring and white melamine cupboards.

Max stands silhouetted in the doorway and Logan can only gaze at her beauty in wonder. That she should truly care about him, want to be with him, want this to be real, too. The light wreaths her body and makes her glow, as if she has truly been blessed by the Divine.

He must have rescued a busload of orphans in a previous life.

"My angel," he whispers and smiles. Then the world tunnels to a pinprick of light and he is embraced by the darkness.

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**June 6, 2005: Inspired again…**

_June 14, 2005: My thanks to Alaidh, the Almighty Beta, who perseveres through adversity - three Beta rounds on this chapter alone - with panache. __J_

_This is a bit long again, but the chapters usually determine their length without my input…_

_Enjoy!_

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Eleven**

"Crap."

Max knows her reflexes aren't up to their usual speed, but she still reaches Logan before he pitches head first from his wheelchair to the cracked asphalt of the driveway. Her ribs protest the fireman's lift, but it would take much more than that to deter her from carrying him. She absently calculates his weight at about one-seventy, trying to remain calm as she negotiates the doorway. She turns just enough to kick the door shut before moving around the half wall to the living-dining area, stopping beside the table. Balancing on one foot, she uses the other to twist two chairs aside.

With a sweep of her hand, a centrepiece featuring a glass bowl of fake fruit is knocked unceremoniously to the floor. The bowl breaks into several pieces and the fruit, mostly round, skitters wildly across the green linoleum like so many coloured balls. Ugly arrangement, really. She hopes he wasn't fond of it. Not that she cares at the moment, but he does tend to fixate on things that aren't necessarily important, and he might be in a mood when he regains consciousness.

_Stubborn, pig-headed, righteous, obsessive…_

She places Logan on his back on the dining room table. His feet stick over the edge. There are times when she is struck by the memory of him standing close behind her, his reflection in the mirror brushing a hand across her neck as she tries to refrain from reacting to his touch, his words, so tall at six feet, two inches.

She removes his gloves and lets them drop to the floor, her fingers pausing at his wrist: pulse is rapid, breathing shallow.

_Crap._

"Logan?" She gives his cheek several firm, rapid slaps. "Logan, answer me."

No response.

"Logan, this isn't funny."

He isn't laughing.

"Logan!"

She leans over him, her cheek near his mouth to check his breathing, and the furniture creaks, protesting the weight. The table isn't going to work after all; it isn't long enough and it isn't safe. What was she thinking?

_Concussion. Right. Thought processes aren't fully on-line yet._

She lifts him once more and settles him on the living room carpet, which is a faux Persian and marginally softer than the linoleum. Max gently turns him on his right side, bending his left knee and rolling him towards her, and arranges him in the "recovery position".

He's sweating. Max knows she has to bring down his body temperature, stop the bleeding and determine if he is injured anywhere other than his leg. She removes his glasses and headset and sets them on top of the dining table, then doesn't waste any time removing his down jacket. She folds it and places it under his head. Her pocketknife makes short work of the left leg of his pants, slicing up from the hem to his knee and ripping the fabric from there. She figures he won't mind too much: who would wear these things again after the events of this evening? A quick assessment determines that his left calf has a wound with a puncture point then a tear of flesh. It's about six inches long. It's deep but it doesn't look like any major arteries have been hit. Or so she hopes. 

She knows first aid, thanks to Manticore field training. Amazing what you can absorb when you're eight years old.

She scans the kitchen and spots a dishtowel hanging from the handle of the stove door. She darts up and blurs across the room to get it, returning to kneel beside him. The medical kit, which is still attached to his belt, has a small bottle of peroxide and some self-adhesive gauze pads. She sterilizes the wound, holds the slash of red flesh as closed as she can with her left hand and applies self-adhesive gauze pads along the tear with her right. It's fast and ugly and she'll never get any prizes for neatness but it curbs the immediate danger. She wraps the dishtowel around his calf to apply pressure and stop the bleeding, and ties it off. She realizes on delay that there are words on the towel: 'Kiss the Cook'.

Max decides to check for other supplies, see if there are any rolls of gauze. She doesn't want to leave him alone for long, so she quickly takes one of the two hallways at random, flipping on lights as she goes. The first bedroom is a child's room. A large yellow rabbit with a pink ribbon around each floppy ear stares at her from its resting place on the bed, as if startled from sleep. Other plush toys huddle near the pillow: nothing useful there.

She moves through the other bedroom and raids the en suite bath for several fluffy towels and a washcloth, all in matching blue. A medical kit in the shape of a fishing tackle box is found in the cupboard under the sink next to a number of splints. The list of items inside is impressive, including: Benzalkonium Chloride (BZK) towelettes, antiseptic spray, antibiotic ointment, pressure bandages, gauze pads, gauze rolls, elastic stretch tape and Band-Aids of all sizes. She brings the whole box; Logan has prepared for emergencies. 

She catches a glimpse of her image in the full-length mirror across from the bedroom door and quickly turns around, looking over her shoulder.

Her leather pants are stained with Logan's blood, on her bottom and her upper thighs. _The trip down the stairs. So he injured himself _after_ finding me._ That gives her a time frame.

Returning to the living room, she grabs a throw pillow from the nearby couch and places it between his knees. She puts a fluffy towel beneath his calf and removes the dishtowel. She considers using the BZK towelettes but decides not to disturb the gauze pads. He's still oozing blood. She notices that some of it hit the carpet before she applied first aid. If it was a real Persian, she might feel bad about getting it stained but it isn't, and she couldn't care less. She wraps his calf in a roll of gauze and seals it top and bottom with stretch tape.

The bloody dishtowel is tossed out of sight under the table.

Logan still hasn't regained consciousness. She runs the washcloth under some cold water in the kitchen sink and wipes his face. After a quick rinse, she places the washcloth on his left temple. Gravity pulls it down to graze his forehead.

Max pauses to take a breather and pulls off her gloves and jacket. They are covered in blood. She discards them on one of the dining room chairs. At this point, her black sleeveless t-shirt is the only piece of clothing that doesn't have a trace of someone else's DNA on it - other than her underwear, of course. She spots a small, shaded lamp on an end table beside the couch and chooses it over the ceiling fixture. The bulb has a low wattage and the light is soft and oddly comforting. She sighs. Her headset joins his on the table and she runs an impatient hand through her gritty hair.

The silence in the room is disturbing. No computer beeping in the background, no patter of fingertips on a keyboard, no sound of the wheelchair whispering along the wooden floor. 'Inactivity' and 'Logan' are _not_ two things she usually associates with one another. Even when he's brooding by the large windows in his apartment, he's in motion, somehow. Dynamic. Waiting, like an elastic band stretched to the maximum pausing before release. This stillness is eerie.

_I'll fix that…_

She estimates Logan has lost several pints of blood, not unlike donating for planned surgery, which he should do, especially with _his_ luck. Only they probably wouldn't take this much at once. And he'd need to lie down for a long time afterward.

_What's the traditional snack? Juice and a doughnut?_

He's shivering: stress, shock, dehydration - and loss of blood. The exertion alone of coming to her rescue is enough to put him on the shelf for a few days, at least, never mind the injury to his leg. What a hell of a night. He needs fluids and a hot meal.

The washcloth slides from his temple to the floor. Max sighs again and tries to arrange it so it stays in place but to no avail. Her fingers trail across the recently cleaned skin of his face and she decides to give the rest of him a quick wash. Dust from the explosion and fires and all the dirt accumulated by dragging himself through the garbage in that building covers him from head to toe. She wants to check for any other injuries as well, so this is as good a time as any. She leaves him long enough to rinse the washcloth in the kitchen sink and returns to kneel beside him, placing the cloth on one of the towels. His legs are carefully moved then she rolls him onto his back, adjusting his down jacket to support his head properly. The pillow that was between his knees chases the fruit across the linoleum when she tosses it.

His shoes are first, closely followed by his pants. The medical kit is still tied to a loop by his belt. Pants and kit join the rest in a pile on the floor. She straddles his waist and unbuttons his shirt, checking his pulse again on his neck, her other hand resting on the soft hairs at his breastbone.

She stills when her position registers.

In her wildest fantasies, she never has Logan lying on the floor of a safe house while she strips him, and he is certainly never bleeding. One of her favourite scenarios has them on a bed with candles placed around the room as the only illumination. They have sensuously removed one another's clothing between fervent kisses and heated whispers and are exploring the skin now exposed, each tingling with gooseflesh in anticipation of making love to their soul mate.

At least, she always has Logan reciprocating her feelings. She _hopes_ she is the one he has been waiting for. She _knows_ he is the one for her. Has known for several months now without recognizing it for what it was. She knows it at a gut-level instinct that has never been wrong before. Their time together in Cape Haven destroyed any of the lame defences she had been building around her heart and forced her to take a long, hard look at their friendship. Relationship. _Whatever._ Hindsight revealed how long she has really known.

_Since the cabin._

Society might still consider her too young to make such an important decision, but the years she has lived have taught her to pay attention when a good thing comes along. She snorts. Only needed four guys trying to kill them to force her to wake up.

Original Cindy wisely observed during the early stages of Logan's increasing attentions to Max that 'Hotboy' might know what he wants but there were issues to be resolved - issues that left Max simultaneously fascinated and frustrated. She has hobbies but they're hardly all consuming. As someone who doesn't need much sleep, she has a lot of time on her hands.

She leads a rich fantasy life.

Sometimes she envisions them doing nothing more than kissing and holding, blissfully enjoying the presence of one another. Physical intimacy doesn't necessitate intercourse. As a paraplegic, Logan would require assistance to make that possible, and her daydreams include a few of the various options available. She's done some reading on the topic, on his home computer, no less, at four in the morning when neither television nor comics could hold her interest. She's even book marked a few links, hidden under the heading of 'Dreams' under the sub-heading of 'Research' and placed revised bets with herself on how long it will take him to notice. A part of her wonders if he'll ever find them.

She stares at his face, handsome features slack, and wonders if they are destined to have their lives ruled by danger. Wonders if they'll be interrupted even now, and checks the room a second time for hidden threats.

Wonders if they can ever get a break.

Max sighs and lets her fingers linger on his chest before grabbing the washcloth and giving him a fairly thorough clean - _without_ being too intrusive. She draws the line at removing his boxers and just quickly checks them for any blood. For the most part, he was protected from the neck down. The left calf turns out to be the only area with a major injury.

She is surprised to note that his legs look to be in good shape. She doesn't usually get to see them, and wonders if he'd wear shorts if his air conditioning broke.

Finished with towelling him dry, Max sits back, resting on his hips, and drinks in the sight. Logan looks delicious lying under her, even in his current condition. Consciousness would be better, of course, but they've been through Hell tonight, so she'll just have to remember this position for her future fantasies.

He can't _stay_ on the floor.

She considers the master bedroom but can't bring herself to take him there. It's too intimate somehow, as if she needs his permission first. She smiles wryly: _Especially on their first date._ She tells herself she needs to be close to the kitchen, anyway, so she can prepare dinner and watch him at the same time.

_The couch it is, then._

She removes the washcloth. Her ribs don't protest as much this time as she crouches beside him and stands slowly, lifting him in what Kendra calls a "cuddle hold": one arm around his shoulders, one arm under his knees. This is how she carried Sophy to safety after Lydecker's team swarmed the building.

_This is how a groom carries a bride over the threshold in those old Hollywood movies._ Logan has stacks of DVDs - very dusty DVDs - and she's barely touched the surface of his collection. She watched most of 'Gone with the Wind' a few weeks ago on fast-forward, but Rhett Butler carrying Scarlett up that huge staircase is a scene that has stayed with her.

Max places him on the couch and plucks the remaining throw pillows away when she realizes he can't lie down properly if they stay. They land somewhere behind her.

_Maybe that's why they call them throw pillows_, she thinks, the touch of a smile curving her lips.

The couch seats four and the back cushions are removable. She takes one of them and slides it under his legs: elevate the feet so they're higher than the heart. He moans quietly but if there is a word formed she can't understand it. She doesn't want to leave him alone on his back so she retrieves a few of the cushions and tucks them under the right side of his torso.

Water. She hurries to the kitchen and flips through a few cupboards before finding a cluster of tumblers. She chooses a plastic one - blue with a pink elephant smiling on it - and fills it with tap water.

She approaches the couch and stops, realizing he isn't covered; that needs to be rectified immediately. Lying there, wearing only an open shirt, boxers and socks doesn't cut it. The tumbler is placed on the dining table and she returns to the master bedroom.

_I could bring him in here, hold him, keep him warm and protect him._

She doesn't know who would protect him from herself. Here she is, struggling through the healing of a mild concussion and Logan is bleeding and someone just tried to kill them and she's thinking about -

_I'm not in heat, _her mantra begins. _I'm not in heat, I'm not in heat…_

Rather than waste any more time, she skips rummaging in the closet and grabs the bottom of the bedding - top sheet and blanket - and gives a sharp tug. _Hmmm, hospital corners._ They slide over the mattress. Two pillows add to the collection and she drags them awkwardly to the living room. She manages not to trip.

_Head injury. Concussion._

She knows her body is reacting to the damage and that her recovery would be considered miraculous by the average doctor - which is why they aren't at Emergency right now. Her efficiency is being affected and she finds it decidedly irritating.

Sheet and blanket cover his body. One of the pillows goes under his head. The other she tosses onto an armchair, within easy reach, just in case. As she tucks the bedding around him, she realizes his socks are different colours. One is navy and one is black.

And she bets he has a matching set just like it at his apartment.

_When Mr. Organized and Mr. Distracted collide…_

She wonders how often he's done that and she hasn't noticed. She can imagine him wheeling around his living room without shoes on, wearing socks that are very clean but completely -

_Wheeling. The wheelchair._ Max opens the door and drags it noisily into the kitchen, leaving it in the corner near a breakfast nook where she won't trip over it, and closes the door again, locking it this time. She retrieves his water and is startled to see his eyes are open when she turns around.

"Hey," she says softly and crosses to the couch, kneeling beside his head.

"Hey." He sounds tired but aware.

"How ya feelin'?"

He thinks for a few seconds, as if trying to find the most accurate words to describe his circumstances.

"Like I just did ten rounds with Mike Tyson."

_Yeah, he's still in there…_

The relief she feels is almost overwhelming. He isn't in serious danger, but the Fates have a habit of screwing her over so she doesn't relax. Not yet…

"Who?" She smiles, knowing who he's referring to but deciding a little baiting might help him stay conscious.

And she needs to stay conscious, too.

_Head injury._

"Pink elephant."

She stops. Damn. She _thought_ he was going to be okay -

"What?"

"That cup," he says patiently, "has a pink elephant on it."

How many times in the space of a minute does she need to test the safe range of her blood pressure?

"Here," she says and holds the cup to his lips. He takes a sip, then another, then his right hand moves under the cocoon she's created, trying to get free. She loosens the covers a bit and his hand reaches for the cup.

His skin is cool when their fingers overlap. She looks from his knuckles to his eyes and can't look away.

His eyes are incredible, with more variations of colour than the finest Italian marble. She's stolen enough quality pieces over the years to appreciate the good stuff. Logan's eyes are inescapably reflective of his moods, and right now they are a rich, deep green, variegated moss. He isn't shaking anymore. He is looking at her like she is the only person worth his regard.

_Eyes Only._

His eyes convey volumes when he does his broadcasts, which, in her opinion, is part of his success and popularity. His obviously controlled outrage, anger, and defiance are a very potent combination. And then, there's his voice -

"Thanks," he says huskily, and Max releases her hold on the tumbler.

"No problem," she replies and it's her turn to shiver.

_Think of something else -_

She reaches behind her and raids the medical kit once more. "Take these," she says, and gives him two pain pills. He swallows them with a bit of water and she watches his Adam's apple in fascination.

_I'm not in heat, I'm not in heat, I'm not in -_

She stands, still cautious because of her concussion.

"Where're you going?"

"Food," she announces, as brightly as her head will permit. She moves towards the kitchen, very aware of his eyes watching her. "We need to eat." She searches the cupboards, working methodically from left to right. "You didn't have a snack before we left and I'm starving."

He chuckles. "You're always starving."

"Not with you around." Logan means food for the stomach, for the eyes and for the soul. Yum.

_Think of something else -_

"So, you're cooking dinner?" He sounds uncertain about the prospect.

"Well, you're in no shape to do it." Max frowns at the contents of the shelves: cold cereal, hot cereal, tea bags, hot chocolate, instant rice, instant pudding, instant coffee -

"A-ha!" She turns triumphantly, a sealed bag in each hand. "Mi Ga!"

"What?"

"It's Vietnamese. Instant noodles!" She shakes one of the bags. "These are chicken."

"Don't know it."

"Who stocked this place?"

"Bling."

Max rolls her eyes, putting the bags down and filling the kettle with water.

"Why am I not surprised? It's very practical, has all the nutrients you need in an emergency. But if it isn't _fresh_ then Eyes Only won't touch it." Her tone is teasing, not accusatory.

"Hey, not everything I eat is fresh." There's an irritable quality to his voice and she knows he's getting better already.

She is leaning against the counter, reading the ingredients. "It's got dried veggies, too!"

She's giddy; she knows it, so relieved Logan is responding to her triage treatment that instant noodles resemble a gourmet feast. And she doesn't care that he sees her joy.

She's felt like this before, survived the terror of nearly losing him. At least he doesn't need a transfusion this time. But tonight they've shared things with one another that might never have been revealed. Losing him now would be worse.

Having him is a miracle.

_And it's all because of a game._

"So," she begins, turning to open the bags and glancing over her shoulder. He raises an eyebrow in response to her playful tone. "'Truth or Dare'?"


	12. Chapter 12

**June 20, 2005: Thank you all for being so patient. Real Life and an approaching holiday in Vancouver, British Columbia with my husband have interrupted my writing habits. I appreciate your continued interest in this story and hope you like the latest chapter.**

**I'll provide a Mush Warning. ;)**

**Many thanks to Alaidh for continuing to Beta. :)**

**_July 17, 2005: Better late than not at all, right? _**__

**August 4, 2005: My apologies for the delay. Real Life and a wonderful holiday meant this chapter wasn't sent to my Beta until July 17, 2005. It arrived in my inbox this morning. I sat at work, revving like a desperate racecar to get through the day so I could return home and post this chapter.**

**I just hope those who were following the story are still out there…**

**(Listens to crickets.)**

**My thanks to Alaidh, the Almighty Beta, who persevered despite Real Life requesting her attention. :)**

**The next chapter is pending. ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Twelve**

"Hey, not everything I eat is fresh."

Logan doesn't realize he has enough energy to react at all to Max's mock accusation, never mind choose to expend it by defending his shopping habits. He wonders if he was rude just then and considers apologizing. She smiles at his response, doesn't seem upset at all as she puts the kettle on the stove and activates one of the burners.

He's puzzled but decides to let it ride.

Max leans against the counter, holding one of the bags of Mi Ga and saying cheerfully, "It's got dried veggies, too!"

For someone with a head injury, she seems to be doing very well. Manticore designed her for quick recovery and he catches himself silently thanking them. As for her emotional state, she's excited, apparently content to have instant noodles instead of lemon linguine.

He's seen this bravado before, this savouring of the moment in spite of the pain, experienced her delight at surviving another night from Hell. At times like this, the every day moments became holiday moments, like its New Year's Eve and they should celebrate. _Auld lang syne._

This evening, he nearly lost her to a trap set for Eyes Only.

That fact burns like a small ember in his skull and he knows if he does nothing else before the night is out, he will track the bastard responsible and bring him down so hard the scientific community will have to recalibrate their understanding of how gravity and acceleration affect the human body.

He isn't so lost in his plans that he doesn't take some time to assess his situation. It registers like a bizarre dream, the urban legend kind you have trouble waking from and when you do, your mouth tastes like foam, half the pillow is missing and you _don't _want to know why.

He is bound on a couch with a sheet and blanket like some sort of phyllo pastry wrap, with only his right arm, shoulders and head free. The tumbler in his hand is made of blue plastic and has a pink elephant smiling back at him, oblivious to his pain. He feels tired, a little dizzy and is gradually piecing together events that led to his current status.

The floor provides a number of obvious clues. The fishing tackle box he recalls being the emergency kit from this location. Wrappers that used to contain gauze pads litter the carpet. A number of decorative pillows, pieces of chunky, broken glass and objects shaped like fruit rest in the dim light and shadows created by the lamp on the table behind his head. His jacket is folded nearby. There are blue towels with blood on them and what looks like bloodied material in a heap near the dining room table.

The last things he remembers clearly include blood on Max's glove and garden gnomes: blood from his leg, the key to the safe house. He must have passed out in the carport. Max obviously carried him in, applied first aid and wrapped him like a mummy to keep him warm and prevent him from falling off the couch. He's on his side, to reduce the chance of him choking while he was unconscious.

_Once again, Max to the rescue._

He takes another sip of water and idly moves his left hand enough to scratch an itch on his upper abdomen - and realizes his shirt is open. He cautiously reaches down, relieved to locate his boxers but a bit startled to find his pants missing.

The evening, it seems, has continued without him.

He identifies the tattered remnants of his pants on the carpet, wonders why he didn't recognize them on the first sweep. His headache is probably a contributing factor. It's performing a stunning interpretation of the rumba and he hopes the painkillers will start working soon.

_Headache. Missing pants. Unfamiliar couch._

When he'd woken like this in college, it meant he'd been lucky the night before.

"So," she begins. She locates two bowls in the cupboard and sets them down on the counter, turning to open the bags, glancing over her shoulder. He manages to raise an eyebrow and appear cool in response to her playful tone. "'Truth or Dare'?"

_Uh-oh._

"Isn't it your turn?" he counters. There are times when their verbal banter is a lot like their chess games.

_Bishop retreats from rook._

Max turns the upper half of her body to look at him with sultry eyes. Her smile says: _Nice try._

"Nope. We got busy with the mission…'Hotboy'."

_Queen moves to threaten king._

Oh, he remembers that part. Yep, yep, yep. He feels the blush creep up his neck and hopes it isn't noticeable in the dim light. Well, where he's lying is dimly lit, almost soothing. She's standing under the fluorescent fixtures that make the kitchen bright by comparison, as if she were on a stage. Of course, she doesn't need light to be able to see him.

_Check._

"Ah." Logan lowers his eyes and sips some water, giving himself a moment to think. He knows he doesn't have to continue playing the game. It was something to do to pass the time and is it really necessary now? Didn't their situation warrant an in-depth analysis of the possible perpetrator behind the attempt on his life? They should do practical things like eat, drink plenty of fluids, and review the facts. His laptop is probably still in full working order and he made certain when he purchased the safe house that it was properly upgraded for contact with the outside world. He can search for clues, run a few scenarios, set up diagrams and flow charts and make telephone calls.

Put his life on pause while he saves the universe.

_Again._

He looks up and meets her eyes. She's waiting for the kettle to boil, still leaning against the counter, her body half turned towards him.

Waiting for him to say something.

The only indication that she's nervous is the way her hand is gripping the edge of the Formica surface, as if she needs it for moral support. If there is any doubt that they should continue with 'Truth or Dare' he suddenly can't remember what it is.

Logan makes a conscious effort to shut down Eyes Only, despite the voice in his head that protests the decision. There's a hitch in her breathing and he wonders what his face is telling her. Wonders what she sees in his eyes.

Wonders if she'll let him kiss her again.

_I'm not going to let this go, Max. I'm not going to let _you_ go._

He straightens against the pillows.

"Dare."

Her eyes widen slightly. He has to smile. She wasn't expecting that. _Good._ Relief, and something else, flickers across her face then he can tell she's performing a quick scramble to find a challenge. He hopes his head is sufficiently clear to handle whatever she chooses.

Seconds later, he recognizes that wicked smile.

"Sing."

"Max -"

She turns to face him completely and crosses her arms. "You made _me_ sing. Your turn."

He finishes his water and lets the cup rest on his stomach. "Do I get to choose the song?"

"_I _didn't get to choose the song." She snorts and rolls her eyes. "'God Bless America'. Couldn't you have picked somethin' else?"

"It was all I could think of." He shrugs. "I don't know your music well enough to name something you'd know the words to."

"Hmph." He can tell she isn't seriously upset by the look on her face: _the cat who ate the canary_. He tries not to dwell on that image as it reminds him of his state of undress.

_Max has seen me almost naked._ It is an alarming reality. 'Self-conscious' and 'shy' aren't words he'd usually choose to describe himself, but they apply when it comes to his angel.

He clears his throat. "Before we get into that, how's my leg?"

"Oh. The cut is about six inches long, kinda deep. Probably needs stitches." The kettle starts to whistle. She lifts it onto a cork pad and turns the burner off. "We should get you to a hospital and have you checked out, anyway. You've lost some blood." He is staring at her back again as she focusses on her task. His status is revealed casually - in the same manner she might mention that he should add bread to his grocery list. He wonders if it's intentionally understated so he won't worry. She doesn't elaborate but empties the contents of the bags, one in each bowl, and adds the boiling water.

It gives him time to absorb this information and decide what to do.

He sighs._ Lying here like a tense rubber band isn't going to resolve anything._

"Am I stable?" She can't contain her laughter at that question. It bubbles forth like a creek in a cool glade on a spring morning. His tension eases and he smiles. "Okay, so my stability, overall, is debateable, I know. But my leg?"

"You're okay for now, I think, but I'm not a doctor." She pulls two forks from the top drawer.

"I know."

She stirs the meals simultaneously, a fork in each hand.

_Ambidextrous? Bet she can walk, chew gum and rub her stomach, too._

"I'm trying to think of a song," she says, her back still to him. "Something old enough that you'd _have_ to know the words."

"Thanks," he comments dryly.

"You know what I mean."

He tries for a safe route. "You could make me sing 'God Bless America'. I've heard it recently somewhere so the words are fresh in my head."

Max glances over her shoulder at that. "Very funny."

His smile is dazzling and he knows it. She looks away from him but not before he sees a blush stain her cheeks.

"Just trying to be helpful."

"_The Beatles_," she says suddenly and stops stirring. "You should know _their_ stuff, even though you're Mr. Classical a lot of the time." She picks up the bowls and moves towards the couch. "Something by _The Beatles_," she declares and offers him one of the meals.

His mother had been particularly fond of _The Beatles _and listened to their music quite a bit. Logan remembers her telling him exactly where she was when John Lennon was shot.

"Well, at least I know _that_ one," he murmurs, accepting the food eagerly. He's hungry and right now, Mi Ga is a gift from the gods.

"What one?" Max sits on one of the dining room chairs, spinning and straddling it and resting her elbows on the back.

"'Something'."

She crinkles her nose. "You lost me. Your dare is to sing a _Beatle's_ song."

"Yes, and they wrote one called 'Something'."

She blinks. "They did?"

"Yes."

"Oh." She takes a mouthful of noodles and swallows. "Okay. Sing that one, then."

"Can I have dinner first?"

She makes a show of thinking about it. "Sure."

"Very magnanimous of you."

"Anytime."

They eat in silence, occasionally slurping their noodles.

Logan finishes last. Max sits and waits patiently until the fork is down for the final time, clinking against the china.

"Okay. Sing."

"Can I have some water, please?" He smiles at her, all innocence.

"Are you stalling?"

He shrugs. "Can't sing with a dry throat."

She grunts, leaves the chair with a grace most dancers would envy, takes his bowl and blue plastic tumbler and returns to the kitchen. Logan watches her move and thinks about the lyrics to the song he is about to attempt. _Very appropriate._ If he has to sing to Max, it could be worse.

On her return, he takes the proffered tumbler and swallows a few sips of water.

She kneels on the carpet beside him and waits, one eyebrow raised in expectation.

He clears his throat. He hasn't had any cause to sing in a very long time.

Valerie had laughed the few times he'd tried serenading her. He never did anything fancy, like stand under her apartment window with a guitar, but when they were dating, he'd been impulsive, inspired to express himself with something heartfelt and romantic. She hadn't appreciated it. Maybe she was embarrassed. She'd covered her ears and pleaded for him to stop. At the time, he hadn't thought his voice was that bad but it obviously irritated her. He had fallen silent and never tried again.

Needless to say, he had certainly not shown her his journals.

Now his voice is a bit hoarse, but then he has been exposed to dust and gases today. He doesn't know what George Harrison would think of his interpretation but he does his best. It's quiet and gentle and he finds the nerve to look at Max as he sings. He isn't even certain that he hasn't switched the verses but he ploughs ahead, regardless; that sort of thing is bound to happen. His emotions catch him a few times and he wonders when he became so sentimental, wonders if the look on her face indicates she's actually listening or bored.

Wonders if she'll laugh at him, too.

He finishes and waits. There is a pause while he endures her gaze. She doesn't blink and it's very disconcerting.

"You've been holding out on me," she whispers finally and he can't miss the catch in her voice. _Control_, he realizes. _She's been trying to control her reaction._

"Not intentionally," he replies, tentative, uncertain about her next words.

She blinks quickly and he can see traces of tears on her lashes. She takes a deep breath and releases it while adding, "You've got a good voice."

"Haven't sung in ages." He swallows, moved by her response to his song. He breaks her hypnotic hold and stares at the weave of the blanket, drinking some more water.

"Why?"

He knew that was coming. "Do I seem like the type who would enjoy singing in public?"

"You _speak_ in public, all the time."

"No, I don't." It comes out sharper than he intends. He sighs. "I don't," he continues softly. "I speak to a video camera. No audience standing in front of me, waiting for me to fail." He smiles ruefully and risks a glance at her face. "Surely you haven't forgotten the speech at Bennett's wedding?"

"It was a good speech," she states firmly.

"But I only remembered it because of your prompting."

"_You _wrote it. That counts for a whole hell of a lot."

They stare at one another. Logan feels his mouth go dry as he takes in her beautiful face, inhales her scent, remembers what her thighs feel like through her leather pants. Holding her in that shattered building was the only way to prevent himself from sliding into despair. He licks his lips and wishes he could think of something to say.

Max drops her gaze suddenly and glances around at the debris on the carpet, as if seeking a sanctuary from the current topic. She seems just as uncomfortable as he is about discussing a personal aspect of his life. It isn't as if they haven't touched on areas that go beyond their business arrangement before, but it's been a while since they've given themselves permission to explore.

In some ways, they have learned more in the course of one evening than they have over the last five months.

It occurs to both of them, at the same time, that they aren't wearing their headsets anymore. They aren't separated by several city blocks and the lights of the safe house hold the darkness at bay.

"I need to tell you something," he whispers. Her face turns to him and her lips are barely six inches away from his. He drags his left hand free of the confines of the bedding and cups her cheek. She shifts just enough to kiss his palm lightly and closes her eyes.

Logan knows this isn't the right time for declarations of love but he's dreamed of this moment for so long. Their lives are constantly interrupted and he doesn't know if there is such a thing as 'the right time'. He's tired of waiting for it. He went through a period of denial when it came to his feelings about Max. Somehow a wheelchair didn't seem romantic and it hardly presented an easy future for anyone who wanted to pursue a relationship. He was broken and she was perfect and their friendship was a miracle to him. Why risk losing it by pressing for more?

"Logan, I -"

His cell phone sounds shrill in the quiet room. Max starts, her eyes open, the spell abruptly broken. She checks with Logan, who nods once, scrambles on her knees for his down jacket and retrieves the phone from a pocket. She tosses it to him, and he manages to catch it with his left hand.

"Yeah?"

"I've tried e-mail but he isn't responding," a man says quickly. "There's been a terrible explosion. I think your friend, Eyes Only, was there when it happened."

"How did you get this number?" He isn't certain who it is, not yet, though obviously this person is part of his network of informants.

"I know one of his other contacts," the man replies. _Defensively. _"They said you were the guy to call, that you were the big guy's right hand. I - I thought you'd like to know."

Beside him, Max is frowning.

"You're sure about this?"

"He said he was gonna to be there," the man continues, sounding distraught. "He was gonna get the disc. I told him about it, on e-mail. We've only ever communicated by e-mail."

_That explains why I don't recognize you._

Max sits with her head cocked to one side, listening very hard.

"I… appreciate the call. I'll look into it immediately. Maybe we should meet and you could give me the full story."

"I'll have to get back to you," he says in a rush. "I'm not in a safe place."

And the line goes dead.

"He's in a bar," Max states clearly. "I could hear the conversation, clink of glasses and so on. Beer being poured. He took something from his pocket while you were talking to him and I heard… a glass being placed near him."

Logan purses his lips. "So if he isn't in a safe place -"

"Why is he stopping to have a drink?"

He checks caller ID. "Blocked."

"Figures."

The urge to throw his cell phone across the room is almost overwhelming. "Damn."

Max hesitates then closes the distance between them and places a hand on either side of his head.

"We'll get them," she says quietly, fiercely. "And gut them."

The kiss that follows is urgent and demanding. Logan returns it with equal enthusiasm and surrenders to the heat.

* * *


	13. Chapter 13

**August 9, 2005: Thank you for your patience, folks. My Beta and myself have lives that must take priority over writing - sad but true - and my Beta has other authors with whom she works. I haven't forgotten about any of my stories; I just have to pace myself.**

**I tip my nifty 'Dark Angel' cap to you, Alaidh, for all your hard work. :)**

**October 21, 2005: The above reasons still apply, which is why this has taken so long. (Sigh) C'est la vie…**

**Well, does anyone remember this story? LOL :D**

**I hope so, 'cause here we go again. My continued thanks to Alaidh, the Almighty Beta. With any luck, it won't be so long between chapters next time.**

**Is it hot in here? ;)**

**Enjoy!**

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Thirteen**

She can't believe it when his cell phone rings. _Of all the times…_

Ignoring it isn't an option.

The call is puzzling and Logan is visibly agitated. Max sits still beside his down jacket and listens very carefully for any clues from the source. The man sounds excited but she doesn't sense any fear in his voice. There are other people around him, engaged in relaxed conversations. She thinks he even pays for a drink just before the call ends.

_What kind of idiot is this guy, anyway? And just how stupid does he think we are?_

Max has spent quality time at Crash. She knows what a bar sounds like and describes everything she hears as best she can to Logan. He controls his expression well. He's probably worked on that look for years, that 'isn't-that-interesting' look where he purses his lips slightly and pretends he is calmly assessing a situation. A muscle in his cheek jumps, signalling a much stronger reaction.

"So if he isn't in a safe place -"

"Why is he stopping to have a drink?"

He checks his display for caller ID, still managing to hold his patented look. "Blocked."

"Figures."

She isn't sure which of them is more frustrated. He is gripping his phone and she can tell he's considering how much damage it will suffer if he throws it at the wall.

"Damn."

She can't stand to see him like this, especially after all they've been through, and not reach out to him. She hesitates, not sure how he'll react, wanting to help, needing to remind him that he isn't alone.

Max covers the short distance between them on her knees and takes his head in her hands, forcing his eyes to meet hers.

"We'll get them," she promises. "And gut them."

The kiss that follows is urgent and demanding. Logan returns it with equal enthusiasm. He releases the phone. It lands with an audible thud on the faux-Persian carpet as his arms close around her.

Max doesn't ignore the need to focus on their predicament, or the need to find out who did this to Eyes Only, or the need to get Logan to the doctor, which really should be first on that list of 'Things To Do'.

At the moment, she just doesn't care.

The one man who penetrated her shields and reached her heart is holding her. How many times in the last five months has she nearly told him that she stops by his apartment because she wants to see _him_? Not to discuss leads on a case, get information on her siblings, or even raid his fridge - but just to confirm he is still there, at the computer, fighting the constant battle with the system. She needs to make sure he hasn't changed while she was at work or doing some thinking on the Needle, even though he drives her crazy sometimes.

If he doesn't wear the armour and ride the white horse, who will?

If he didn't have Eyes Only, Seattle _and_ Logan Cale would suffer.

And he wouldn't be the man she loves.

_There's that word again…_

She moans into his mouth when his hands slide under her singlet. Strong fingers that find the areas of tension in her back and apply gentle massage caress her skin.

_Oh, god. Does he have any idea what that feels like?_

The lyrics to 'Something' are looping through her head as Logan pulls her closer, so their bodies meet at the edge of the couch. She bends to make it less of a strain for him, placing one hand on his shoulder and the other behind his head.

Somehow he deepens the kiss; it isn't the hungry, desperate kissing she has experienced when she's in heat. This is like the kiss they shared in the damaged building only _more_ so. She didn't think that was possible. Her mouth is being simultaneously teased and satisfied and she melts against him. The hand she has on his shoulder shifts slightly so it is touching his skin. She pushes his shirt out of the way and her hand follows it as it slides down Logan's right arm. She feels the strength in his bicep, delights as it flexes under her fingers.

It takes all her remaining willpower not to push him back against the pillows and lie on top of him. She wants to rip his shirt off and remove her bloodstained leather pants and crawl under the covers.

Lost in their kiss, she's surprised when he partially lifts, partially drags her to lie atop him. She can feel the warmth of his chest through the thin material of her singlet and bra.

_I guess great minds think alike…_

She bends her knees and spreads her legs until they are resting on either side of his hips. This way, she takes some of the weight off him. The position is suggestive, to say the least, and with anyone else she wouldn't be comfortable. But this is Logan. Despite the intensity of their embrace, she knows he isn't going to take advantage of her. Kissing and touching, sure, but that's all. He is a practical man. They're both injured and have endured a very stressful night - and it isn't over yet. There will be a time and a place for anything more, but it won't be now.

No matter how much the feral side of her wants it to happen.

He is also a sensitive man. When - not _if_, she thinks joyfully - _when_ they decide to explore the physical side of their relationship, there will be more conversations than the one they had tonight.

And they will occur with both of them in the same room, face to face, with the light on.

Logan breaks the kiss and his lips burn a trail along her jaw to her right ear.

"I wish we didn't have to stop," he whispers, warm breath on her skin. "But… we have to stop."

Max smiles, knowing he'd say something like that and happy she was right. "Yeah," she says reluctantly, resisting the urge to grind her hips against him. He sucks gently on her earlobe. "But if you keep doin' stuff like that, stopping won't be an option." She could stop any time, but she thinks it makes a nice retort.

Yes, she could stop, but she hasn't moved and he's still sucking on her earlobe. She shifts, trying to get better purchase on the soft cushions.

Her already rapid heartbeat nearly screeches to a halt when he grips her tighter and growls possessively against her throat.

_Issues resolved, clothing cast aside, they fall onto the mattress, hands exploring, eager but tender. She purrs at his touch, flushed and aroused. She gazes down at him lovingly, lustfully, as she straddles his hips. He smiles and growls before letting all his inhibitions slide away._

Max blinks away the sudden daydream and returns to the living room: similar position but too many clothes. _Someday._ She sighs and raises herself on all fours.

"Just a sec," she says, and kisses his forehead before placing her feet on the floor and pushing away from the couch. Standing is more difficult than she remembers.

Logan shifts and rearranges the pillows so they are behind his back. He watches her while she tugs her singlet down and adjusts the straps on her bra. How did they get off her shoulders? She sends Logan a sharp look. He smiles 'Dazzle Max Smile #12', and certain parts of her anatomy tingle.

_Damn him, anyway._

They both take a deep breath. "So," they say together. Their eyes meet and she smiles, too.

"What next?" She looks at the floor and kicks the fake fruit around for something to distract her from Logan's sexual presence.

She can _feel_ his smile fade. "You nearly got killed tonight."

Max thinks of that voice as his Eyes Only voice and she doesn't feel one bit sorry for the bad guys. She shrugs.

"Hey, it's all in a night's work."

"I," Logan begins in the same, low-toned, matter-of-fact voice he uses for his broadcasts, "am going to find the son-of-a-bitch who set that trap and torture him until he tells me everything I want to know."

She raises her eyes to meet his again in appreciation. "I'd pay money to see that show."

Logan nods. "Good. Make sure you sell tickets and get yourself a front row seat." He sighs and rubs his tired eyes. "Um, Max? I'm gonna need my glasses and my laptop. Please."

"I'm on it," she says, and hands him his glasses before going out the side door.

She pauses, closing it behind her and checking for anything out of the ordinary before proceeding - nothing but darkness and gnomes, crickets and garbage. She opens the passenger door and considers the signpost. Giving it an experimental tug tells her the Aztek is going to need a shop to cut it free from her poor, battered body. She ducks under the post and grabs the laptop.

The power supply slips and hits the toe of her boot before clacking to the asphalt. _Might as well bring that in, too - batteries aren't cheap._ She drops to one knee and reaches for it.

She stops when she sees the small device attached to the underside of the vehicle. If she didn't have Amazing Manticore Vision, she would never have noticed it.

Someone is tracking them. Someone knows exactly where Logan and Max are and is waiting for them to fall asleep or to meet with their next contact or -

_Shit._

She idly wonders if they're watching right now and makes a move to brush at an imaginary scuff on her boot, just in case. _Don't want them to know that _we_ know. _

Max casually picks up the power supply and takes her time adjusting it in her arms, balancing with the laptop. A quick scan of the immediate area shows no cars nearby and no heat signatures that she can detect. How serious are these people? Do they know they didn't kill Eyes Only? Do they suspect that he's in the safe house?

She closes the door of the Aztek and goes inside, kicking the kitchen door shut behind her.

"Everything okay?" Logan asks. Max puts the equipment on the dining room table and confirms with great relief that the curtains have been closed all this time. That cuts down on information if anyone has been watching. She turns and twists the button on the doorknob: lock number one. She quickly sets the deadbolt and the chain, and the other deadbolt above her head. Satisfied, she turns and gives him a weak smile.

"There's a tracking device on the Aztek." There isn't really any other way to say it. He stills, no doubt contemplating if the safe house really is safe. "They wouldn't know where we were going, so I don't think we have to worry about listening devices in here."

"Right." He holds out his hands for the laptop. "Someone must have put it there while I was waiting for you. I didn't see anyone and how would they know that -" His expression is grim as he accepts the computer. "Never mind. Let's get set up and see what's going on."

It doesn't take long to connect the power supply and Internet cable to a nearby wall jack. Logan balances the computer on his thighs and there's a moment of celebration when it comes to life. Then he's typing away with a speed some would envy.

"Nothing on e-mail."

"So that guy hasn't even tried to reach Eyes Only," Max says, wondering which bar the coward is hiding in.

"Nope. That's a load of bull. He thinks my alter-ego is dead." He taps the keyboard with his nails, restless for information, then snaps his fingers and says, "Sebastian. He should be on-line." Sebastian has been working with Logan on gathering evidence for this case. His fingers fly once more.

Max is restless and paces for a few minutes before deciding to itemize their food. She stops at the instant pudding. They don't have any fresh milk but it can be made with powdered milk, which she finds after some rummaging. She's that desperate.

"I'm checking the news, too," Logan says, pausing to reach beside him to where the remote control rests beside the lamp. The television clicks on and he flips channels. Max is whipping the pudding mix and looks up, noting text from the computer screen reflected on his glasses. "I don't want to let on that Eyes Only hasn't been killed," he continues, distracted by something else. "Not yet. Could give us more time to…"

She ignores some delicate stemmed glassware she's found and scoops the pudding into two large bowls. She isn't being judged on presentation. _Stick in fridge, ready in five minutes._ Can she wait that long?

"Hmmm."

"Hmmm?"

"It got good coverage," Logan states quietly, and nods at the television. Max moves closer so the glare from the kitchen light doesn't interfere with the picture. Logan has found live footage of the site with a reporter standing amidst the chaos as firefighters battle the blaze.

"Almost a city block is burning to the ground," the reporter says, clutching the lapels of his trench coat over his suit. Ash swirls around him. He coughs and directs the cameraman to move back. Whoever is operating the camera still manages to film while they distance themselves from the danger.

The building Max had first entered is gone. The back wall of the one beside it collapses as they watch. The one where they shared that amazing kiss is missing the second floor. Firefighters are hosing down the nearby buildings, but others have caught fire, including some across the street, and they aren't going to be standing before the night is through.

"While authorities won't know for certain how the fire started, its thought that a gas line ruptured. The explosion was heard many blocks away." The camera pans over some vehicles parked at a safe distance. Barricades have been set up and a crowd has gathered to watch the neighbourhood burn. "I spoke with a representative from the police department moments ago."

The clip cuts to a beefy man in uniform with grey hair. "It's too early to say what triggered this, but our current theory is a ruptured gas line."

The microphone pulls out of the frame and the reporter asks from off camera, "Could it have been deliberate?"

The microphone returns to the officer's face and he stares at it with barely concealed irritation. "We aren't ruling out anything yet."

The image shifts again and the reporter is now standing in front of the vehicles. Several people are moving behind him as he repeats himself so he'll still be officially covering the event. Max and Logan recognize one of the crowd watching the blaze at the same time. They exchange a look, then Logan reaches down to where he dropped the phone and presses a number programmed for speed dial.

"Hey, Matt," Logan says quietly. "Got a minute?"

On the screen, Detective Matt Sung turns away from the cameras, his phone pressed against one ear. "Logan? Look, this isn't a good ti -"

"Matt, I don't know who did this, but I know it was deliberate."

That gets his attention. "How do you -"

"The first building to burn was wired." He glances at Max, who nods solemnly. "They tapped into the gas line, too, just to give it an extra punch."

Matt stops and looks around as if he could find Logan in the crowd. "Is this related to something Eyes Only is working on?"

"You could say that. An informant arranged a drop. It was a set-up and he was almost killed."

"Someone tried to kill Eyes Only? Is he -"

"Recovering." He winces and shifts against the pillows again. "But it was close. We're going through the most likely suspects now."

Matt nods and says curtly, "Keep me posted."

"You, too."

"I'll do what I can." Matt sighs. "Let Eyes Only know I'm on it."

"Done," Logan says and both men disconnect at the same time.

Max has no idea what the reporter has been babbling about all this time. It's weird seeing Matt on the television but hearing him through Logan's phone. She grins.

"He looks pissed."

"He's a good cop. This sort of thing should be pissing him off."

"So, any word from Sebastian?"

He quickly checks. "Not yet. And… nothing on e-mail."

She returns to the kitchen and opens the fridge, pulling out the two bowls and using her foot to close the door. "In that case," she says cheerily, "we have pudding."


	14. Chapter 14

November 10, 2005: Moving right along, our protagonists proceed with their exciting evening… :)

My continued thanks to Alaidh, the Almighty Beta, who has diligently journeyed with me through **this** story, "Getting Away From It All" - next chapter coming soon, honest! - and even agreed to Beta the new story, "Playing With Fire". Alaidh is patient and very focussed. Thank you, dear heart.

For the record, I didn't mean to start **another** story, it just sort of… happened… ;)

Thank you for your continued support and wonderful reviews. You inspire me to keep going. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. :)

_December 4, 2005: Thank you, Alaidh. The adventure continues…_

_Enjoy, folks!_

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Fourteen**

_Pudding?_

"Pudding?"

Max hands him a bowl and lets a spoon drop into the middle so it sticks upright. She's grinning like she won the lottery. He accepts it with one hand while keeping the other on his computer.

"Pudding. Chocolate, to be exact. 'Made By Max'." She sighs. "Doesn't compete with those creamy things at Bennett and Marianne's wedding, but it'll have to do."

_When did she make pudding?_

She sits cross-legged on the floor next to the couch, fluidly dropping down into position, eyes on the television.

"Um, thanks," he says. She shrugs and starts to eat.

Logan looks from his pudding to the television screen to his laptop to her face, not sure where to focus first. He recalls a time - yesterday, wasn't it? - when he could multi-task fairly well. He sighs, makes sure the laptop isn't going to slide off his knees and leans back against the cushions. The first taste of pudding is tentative but it actually tastes pretty good. He holds the bowl tightly, as if he can squeeze more dessert from it, and scrapes his spoon in order to leave none of the chocolate behind. He glances over at Max and forgets to put his spoon down.

She is licking the inside of her bowl, eyes closed, like a cat lapping up cream. He watches her tongue curl and straighten and curl. Logan is aware of air escaping his lungs, along with a sound that resembles a quiet moan, but he's too aroused to care. She performs a quick sweep of her lips, making sure she hasn't missed any of the pudding, and opens her eyes. Her pupils are large as she stares at him, and she smiles shyly.

"Good, isn't it?"

"Uh…" When did his vocabulary go off-line? " Yeah. Good. Oh, the _pudding_. The _pudding_ is good. Chocolate. Yeah. Absolutely." _Shut up, you idiot._

Max regards him oddly, as if trying to assess whether or not he's injured his head along the way.

_Think about something else_, Logan commands himself firmly. _Think about the explosion and Max getting injured and the tracking device and - gods, anything but Max sitting there with a bit of pudding on the tip of her nose that makes me just want to lean over and lick it off myself._

"You've got some -" He mimes the problem and she removes the pudding with the swipe of a finger."

"Oh," she says, and chooses to put her finger in her mouth to suck it clean.

The computer rescues Logan's mind from a complete meltdown with a delicate 'ping'.

"It's Sebastian," he tells her, his voice sounding a bit high. He clears his throat. "He's been watching the television coverage, too."

He puts the spoon in his bowl and passes it to Max, who sets it aside with her own on the floor beside her, then holds out her hand, palm up. He gives her the remote and tries to focus on what Sebastian is typing while she flips channels.

_- You and Max are safe? -_

Logan decides it would be better not to go into details now. **- Yes, we're fine. Some scrapes and bruises, but fine. -**

_- Good. After all this, did you get the disk? -_

**- I think so. - **"Max, do you still have that disk?"

She stretches and reaches and pulls her jacket to where she's sitting. A CD in a jewel case has survived in her inside pocket. A folded piece of paper comes out with it.

"Yep," she says, and passes him the disk. He studies it, as if a clear, plain case and unmarked CD might provide some clues. They don't, of course.

**- Got it. Don't know if it's what we're looking for, though. - **

In his peripheral vision, Logan watches Max open the piece of paper and place it on the rug, trying to smooth the wrinkles with the flat of her hand. His eyes, a screen capture from one of his broadcasts, and the word "Boom" written in black marker underneath are clearly visible.

_- Do you feel safe to try it? -_

**- Do I have much of a choice? -**

_- You could bring it here. -_

Logan hesitates before typing again. **- We have another problem. My vehicle has a street sign, pole and all, through it and it's kind of conspicuous right now. I don't want to get stopped. -**

There is a longer pause this time. The program on television momentarily distracts Logan's thoughts. On screen, an orange car leaps what is obviously a damaged bridge, the odds improbable that it will reach the other side. He knows how it will end, though. Max changes the channel just as the car lands safely and two men climb out the windows to greet a woman in impossible heels. Some shows never die.

He checks his e-mail again: nothing. The 'ping' has him return to the conversation with Sebastian, who has typed one word: _- Wow. -_

Logan smiles. He can imagine the picture his brief descriptions generate when combined with the images on the television of the burning buildings. **-We were both a little close to the explosion. Max was in one of the buildings next door when it went off. -**

_- Wow. -_

**- Yeah. Another thing. Max has found a tracking device on the Aztek. Whoever it is knows where we are right now. -**

_- Shit. -_

Does he get the young man more involved than he is already? **- Any help you can provide would be greatly appreciated. -**

_- The building was wired to explode? -_

**- Yes. -**

_- And you're sure they were waiting for you? -_

**- I'm sure. -**

_- There is activity on the Informant Net, wanting to know if something has happened to Eyes Only. -_

Damn. **- So there's been a leak. Only four people were supposed to know about the pick up tonight. -**

_- So the leak is the one who told you about the disk. -_

**- Yep. He's even called me, or someone claiming to be him has. -**

Logan waits for that piece of information to seep through. _Two, three, four…_

_- WHAT! -_

Max laughs at something and Logan catches a glimpse of Gilligan and the Skipper doing their Laurel and Hardy routine. Amazing what the stations play on a Sunday night. The explosion has probably helped the ratings.

**- He called my cell phone from a bar. -**

_- How did he get your number? -_

**- He claims someone on the Informant Net gave it to him, saying I was close to Eyes Only. I don't buy it. -**

_- Neither do I. You need wheels? -_

**- I might. -** He glances at Max. **- We haven't had that conversation yet but we can't stay here. I'll get back to you in a minute. Let me know if you can find anything on this guy. -**

_- Will do. Forward me his e-mail. -_

Logan does precisely that and Sebastian's icon turns to the 'Busy' marker as he charges in where angels fear to tread. The young man is brilliant and bold - and Logan knows he'd have lost Max to the Red's implant without him. He has connections that Eyes Only considers an invaluable asset. Logan minimizes the window and looks at the television.

Max has found another station covering the explosion. This time a female reporter in a snapper-red wool coat is at the scene. She looks wind blown but warm and more intent on the news than whether or not her hair is in place. He notes the name on the bottom of the screen reads 'Karen Melbourne'.

"What does the situation look like to you, Karen?" a disembodied female voice asks.

"It's chaos here, Susan," she replies as the screen splits to show an immaculate Asian woman sitting at a desk. "No one knows exactly what happened here, though most agree it was one explosion and the gas lines were involved."

"Duh," Max comments quietly.

"Is the fire under control?"

"The fire has been contained to this city block but they can't seem to get the flames under control."

"Could there be more to the explosion? Do the authorities have any reason to think this was deliberately set?"

"They won't comment, Susan, and won't know until they investigate the site."

"Well, thank you, Karen." Karen's side of the screen slides to the right and Susan turns to another camera. "We'll get back to Karen later as the story develops." She smiles. "Good news for commuters as city officials stayed late in session on Friday to announce plans for a new route that will cut down on the traffic jams across the city…"

Susan waxes poetic on the topic for a few minutes then moves on to Miguel with the sports summary. Max mutes the news and turns to look up at Logan.

"So, what's the next move?"

Logan finds it interesting and slightly disconcerting that Max can change gears so quickly and with apparent ease. Not half an hour before, they were on the couch, involved in a passionate embrace that was loving and comfortable and easily could have become more primal. He won't do that, to her or to himself. He can't, just isn't wired that way.

_But he wants to..._

"Hey, you okay?"

"I've just got a lot on my mind," he replies - relatively smoothly. He focusses on the laptop, checking his e-mail for the umpteenth time, hoping she won't pursue the topic.

"Hey!" He looks up at her sharp exclamation, startled. She is regarding him sternly. "Don't do that."

He keeps his face blank, hopes nothing registers there. Pretending he doesn't understand what she's talking about is a habit, a shield. It looks like she isn't going to buy it this time.

"Do what?"

She smacks his leg with the remote. He doesn't feel it, of course, but gets the message.

"That! Shutting me out. After what's happened tonight, I'm not gonna put up with it."

He raises an eyebrow. "Really?"

Max sighs and states with a deadly calmness, "Logan, don't be a prick, or so help me, Eyes Only will be on his own once this bitch is done."

He stares at Max. She's very angry. It seems a nerve has been stepped upon. He swallows. He realizes he's reached another 'now or never' moment - and the never scares him more. He allows himself to lower his shields and says quietly, "It's just all happened so fast."

Her face softens a little but she isn't letting him off the hook yet. "What has?"

He looks at her then, properly, focussing on her eyes. "Everything."

A smile starts on her face, uncertain if it should continue. "Not really. The Eyes Only stuff is always goin' on, and you and me…" The smile completes. "We've been goin' on for a while now, too."

He nods. "Just not… talking about it."

"Right."

"Right," he echoes. "I - I wish we had time to talk about this more, but we really need to get moving."

"The tracking device. Yeah." She sighs and switches off the television, tossing the remote onto the couch. "Got a plan?"

Logan isn't surprised she asks him rather than tells him what she has in mind. It's a dynamic they've used before: he's the sergeant and she's the soldier. It doesn't elude him that, with her training and experience, she is more than capable of handling decisions like this, developing strategies for an appropriate withdrawal to regroup, fleeing and hiding from people who are hunting her down.

His experience pales by comparison. Chess games and computer hacking and weaving through inattentive patrons at the market are no substitute. Hiding in is apartment and being a cyber vigilante isn't nearly as dangerous as the simple task of visiting a doctor is for Max.

_Well, maybe it's been more dangerous since I met her, and tonight has certainly been a ride…_

"We still need to be mobile, but we can't do it in my car. Sebastian is checking on a leak in the Informant Net." Max raises an eyebrow. "Yeah, no surprise there but he's with us on that one. We need another vehicle and we need to get out of here and we need to get rid of our babysitters."

Max nods once. "I agree." She stands and takes the bowls and spoons into the kitchen, leaving them on the counter. Another 'ping' draws Logan's attention back to his computer.

_- First things first. -_ Sebastian pauses. Logan figures he's probably juggling several conversations at once. _- I've got you some wheels. We need to make the switch then you need to pitch that tracking device. I'm worried about how they got your phone number. -_

Logan frowns slightly. **- Another mystery for another time. - **

He hesitates, repercussions of the evening catching up with him and clicking into place with the force of a clip being placed in a gun. It has come down to this. He knows all the information on the Informant Net, the cases in progress and the rest of his life are on his computer. The computer… _Is it really that vulnerable? If they placed a tracking device on the car, they have my plates and that will lead them -_

"Home," he murmurs.

_- We have no idea what these people are capable of. Do you have somewhere safe to stay?-_

Obviously, Sebastian has reached the same conclusion. **- I'm not sure but I'll think of something. Tell me where to meet and we'll go from there. You have someone you can trust to switch the cars? -**

_- No problem. Here's the address of a garage I trust. -_ Logan memorizes it and moves on.

**- I really appreciate this, Sebastian. -** Logan is aware that Max is standing beside him and reading the conversation, absorbing the information like a sponge. **- Give us half an hour and we'll be there. -**

- Half an hour? -

**- I have an idea about the device. Going to get rid of it first. And I need to make a call. -**

_- Half an hour it is. Contact me when you're clear. -_

**- Watch your back. -**

Sebastian provides a 'thumbs-up' icon and signs out.

Logan shuts down his laptop and Max unplugs it from the wall, gathering the cord and power supply and taking the computer from him. She places it all on the dining room table.

"You trust Sebastian?"

"There are four people in this world I trust without hesitation. One of them is standing in front of me." He smiles at her and she responds with a tentative smile of her own. Considering the seriousness of the circumstances, he understands completely. "The other three are Sebastian, Matt Sung, and Bling." He reaches for his phone and selects a number he has on speed dial. "Speaking of whom…"

Max starts to gather items from the floor, ignoring the fruit in favour of things like the note she found, Logan's down jacket, belt and the remnants two first aid kits: one from the car, one from the bathroom. She disappears down the hall to the bedroom just as Bling answers his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's Logan."

"Hey. What's up?"

"Have you seen the news?"

There's a pause. He can hear the television going in the background. "Who hasn't? Something your boss is looking into?"

Logan smiles grimly. "Something like that." Bling knows about Eyes Only and refers to that entity as 'boss' when they're in public. Their conversation should be free of 'other parties' but he can't be sure. Not this time. "Let's just say he and an associate of his were there when it blew and they're unable to get home right now."

"I… see." The sound of the television becomes distant so Bling must be walking to another area of his apartment for some privacy. "Do they need a lift?"

Max returns with two duffle bags and starts flipping through the cupboards and packing anything that resembles portable food. He recognizes some items: trail mix, granola bars, crackers, corn chips, peanut butter, honey…

"Actually, I think that's covered. The boss does need you to check on something at the apartment, though." Logan sighs. It will take a lot of work for him to recover everything on his hard drive but it has to be done. A thought strikes him. _Maybe it doesn't have to be that way… _"About that virus we've discussed…"

Bling takes a quick breath. Logan knows what he's asking, just as he knows Bling has understood his request: wipe the computer, every last piece of information. The program just needs a password to be activated. 'Virus' is a code they set up for circumstances such as this and it has never been mentioned since. His friend says in a hushed voice, "That serious, huh?"

"Yep. The boss has two options and needs your advice. It's… a new virus and could cause some real damage. Just run the program _or_ disconnect the beast and take it with you." Logan sighs. If Bling is comfortable with harbouring his computer then maybe - "It's what you feel you have time for. Your call. The boss will catch up with you later."

"Right. Anything else he needs from the apartment?"

"Oh, anything you think might be prudent." His life has just been turned upside-down. He wonders how his voice can remain so calm. Wonders if their unknown enemy has really tracked Eyes Only back to Logan Cale.

Wonders if he'll ever cook Max that linguine.

"Consider it done."

"Bling?" Logan clears his throat. His physiotherapist has become a true and loyal friend. "Thanks, man. The boss really appreciates it."

He can hear the smile over the phone. "Anytime."

"Be careful. There might be visitors."

"Understood."

"He'll be in touch."

"Right." Bling disconnects and Logan can imagine him apologizing to his girlfriend for having to step out on a Sunday night and driving as quickly as the checkpoints permit to complete the task he's accepted.

"Well." Logan throws his blanket aside and stares at his bare legs, boxers and socks. _Ah._ He hears a muffled snort. "Max, I need some pants…"

* * *


	15. Chapter 15

January 12, 2006 – Sunday evening in Seattle isn't boring right now for Logan and Max…

Thank you, Alaidh, for working your magic and making this a better story. :)

I'll make this a short Author's Note - gasp, lol! - and mention once more how much I appreciate your reviews. My apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. I have been ill but that seems to be settling down now.

I do not own these characters and make no profit with any 'Dark Angel' stories.

_February 21, 2006: Ah, the best laid plans of mice… ;)_

_Life grew hectic for myself and my Amazing Beta. We press on._

_Enjoy!_

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Fifteen**

"You trust Sebastian?"

Max asks it casually, like it hasn't occurred to her that their friend might be the leak in this operation. Sebastian has been very helpful to Eyes Only and, as someone who is aware of her past, he is an extra source of intel regarding Manticore and any word on her siblings. She doesn't want to think he would betray either of them, but one of the rules that must be applied when things go sideways is to never assume anything. Is it a possibility Logan has even considered?

"There are four people in this world I trust without hesitation," he states confidently. "One of them is standing in front of me." His smile is an attempt to reassure her. It is so hopeful and endearing that she can't help but return it, if only a little. Their circumstances won't permit her to relax again completely until they really are somewhere safe.

She forgot for a while, became entangled with the scent and feel of him, the vibration of his voice against her skin. The tentative conversation about their feelings for one another will not be forgotten. She can hear the ice cracking just under the surface as the barriers between them begin to melt.

_Once again_, she thinks, surprised to catch herself stifling a yawn, _saving the world has to come first._

She has a more personal reason now to see that the sun rises on both of them tomorrow.

"The other three are Sebastian, Matt Sung, and Bling." He reaches for his phone and selects a number he has on speed dial. "Speaking of whom…"

Max decides she has to move or she'll just stand and watch him talk, like a toy without batteries. Her head still hurts and her ribs still ache but there is work to be done. She gathers the evening's debris from the floor: the note she found in the building; Logan's down jacket and belt; the remnants of two first aid kits. Holding them awkwardly against her chest, she disappears down the hall just as Bling answers his phone.

_"Hello?"_

"Hey, it's Logan."

_"Hey. What's up?"_

"Have you seen the news?"

The items are dumped on the bed and she performs a rapid search of the closet, finding two cloth duffle bags on the top shelf. She drags them down and gives them a shake. _Not a bad size, either. Good for sports gear._ First aid components go in one of the bags along with Logan's belt. Spare toothbrushes, neatly sealed in clear plastic, are found in a bathroom drawer. She tosses two in along with a tube of toothpaste - _oh, the luxury_ - and some deodorant.

She rolls Logan's coat tightly and jams it into the bottom, next to the first aid stuff. She won't throw it away yet, not until she finds something better to keep him warm, but it smells of fire and ash. It reminds her of the explosion and mortality and how vulnerable Logan was climbing those stairs - _for her._ She'll smell this day every time he wears it, even if he has it dry cleaned. If he keeps it, she knows he'll _think _of this day every time he wears it. She won't let that happen. She will ensure it becomes lost in the shuffle and he'll move on without it.

Max will protect him, even from moments of haunting doubt of his ability to protect _her_.

The note, she folds and tucks temporarily into the waistband of her leather pants.

He's still speaking with Bling when she returns to the living room. She's heard the entire conversation, of course, and says nothing while he discusses the possibility of wiping all the information on his computer. He'll do what has to be done.

_Focus on what _you _have to do._

The duffle bags hit the kitchen floor. She starts flipping through the cupboards and packing anything that resembles portable food into the empty bag: trail mix, granola bars, crackers, corn chips, peanut butter, honey…

_"Right. Anything else he needs from the apartment?"_

Max grimaces when she hears that question. Logan's private life, his penthouse retreat, everything that isn't related to Eyes Only, is vulnerable to theft or destruction. If they've connected him with Seattle's saviour, they'll raid his place and he'll be left with nothing…

Exposed. Destroyed. A target for the authorities as well as those who lurk in the shadows.

She'd pay good money to beat the shit out of the one who betrayed him.

"Oh, anything you think might be prudent."

She wonders how he can sound so calm, wonders if he believes the bad guys are that close to solving the puzzle of his identity.

_Wonders if he'll ever cook her that linguine._

"_Consider it done."_

"Bling?" Logan clears his throat. Max can imagine what it took for him to ask this of his friend and how much it means to him that he can count on Bling. "Thanks, man. The boss really appreciates it."

She can hear the smile over the phone. "_Anytime."_

"Be careful. There might be visitors."

"_Understood."_

"He'll be in touch."

"_Right." _

She grins. He's been so good to Logan. _I'll give Bling some crazy chocolate for his girlfriend when we get through this thing._

Max reviews her scavenging. She's done here. One duffle bag is now crammed with food, enough to get them wherever it is they're going, enough so they can survive until the next stop, the next reserve of non-perishable items.

_Is there a twenty-four-hour grocer in this sector?_

"Well." Logan throws his blanket aside and stares at his bare legs, boxers and socks. She can tell he'd forgotten about this part, just as he'd missed her making pudding, so caught up with the complications, implications and ramifications of every thing they have and haven't done which led them to this moment.

His expression is priceless and it temporarily breaks her solemn mood. She tries to muffle her laughter but it comes through her hand as a snort.

He sighs. "Max, I need some pants…"

"I dunno," she says coyly, taking a moment to appreciate the man before her. "I kinda like this look on you -"

"Max!" He sounds upset but his lips curve into a grin and he blushes a little.

She laughs. "Hey, I'm just sayin'."

He looks directly at her then and raises one eyebrow, allowing his grin to broaden. His dishevelled appearance only adds to his already substantial allure.

_Ooooooo, he looks like we just did the wild thing -_

She takes a step towards him. They both jump when a car roars down the street but relax at the sound of several young, male lungs whooping into the night as they head west.

She sighs and reaches for her jacket. _Unfortunately,_ w_e don't have time, dammit…_

"Well," he says again, and starts to redo the buttons on his shirt. He's fumbling with them. Could be due to haste or lack of food or lack of sleep - _or loss of blood_. She doesn't offer to help, sensing he wouldn't want her to have noticed his trembling hands.

"You have clothes here?"

"Probably. Try the bedroom."

"I'm on it." Max grabs the non-food duffle bag and fairly runs back down the hall, paying attention this time to the items hanging in the closet. There are about a dozen wooden hangers on the metal bar: suits. _Grey, brown, pinstripe -_ She stops at a black, double-breasted jacket made of light wool with satin lapels and matching wool trousers folded neatly underneath. Despite their situation, she can instantly picture Logan wearing it.

_Whoa._

Not for the first time this evening, she wonders what is wrong. It isn't like her to get distracted, the way she did on the roof playing 'Truth or Dare'. It isn't like her to bother trying to save the bad guy - the way she did back at the building. _Not my fault he was too far-gone._

It isn't like her to get caught up in waking dreams involving Logan Cale, dreams that go far beyond anything she could have ever imagined.

_I'm not in heat, I'm not in heat, I'm not in heat -_

"Not practical," she murmurs, and even though she doesn't know if it's the right size, she shucks it from the hanger and packs the suit anyway. A crisp, white dress shirt joins it in the bag.

The drawers yield more appropriate attire: jeans. She grabs three pairs, storing two and draping one over her shoulder. T-shirts. _Colour, size -_

She makes an exasperated noise and scoops the entire contents of the drawer, figuring she might be able to use a change of clothing, too. _Socks, underwear - _She checks another drawer and chooses two bras that might be her size. _Into the bag. _

A few random sweaters join the other clothing. _Gotta keep him warm._

The longest she's been gone is two minutes. Efficiency is the key.

Logan turns as she emerges from the hall and catches the jeans tossed his way: faded Levis. He pulls them on immediately and is buttoning his fly when a ball of material lands in his lap: a pair of rolled socks.

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Max packs his laptop and power supply in the duffle with the clothes for ease to carry to the Aztek. Logan changes his socks and finds his shoes, loosening the laces and taking his time to be careful pulling them on. She catches herself staring again and has to push herself to move.

She reaches the vehicle and places the duffle bags on the back seat, calmly, like everything is mostly normal. Anyone watching them will have no idea that they are aware of the tracking device. She takes out a case of bottled water, which she found under the sink, and stores it on the floor behind her seat. The wheelchair is the next item on her mental checklist. She retrieves it from the corner of the kitchen and parks it beside Logan, locking the breaks. He transfers slowly, careful of his leg injury.

"Have you seen my -"

Max is ready for this question.

A heavy cable-knit sweater with a high, ribbed collar is handed to him. He hesitates, almost says something then pulls it on without any question. It's a brown/beige knit and Max decides it flatters his colouring.

He smiles. His green eyes are glorious behind those little glasses. "Thanks."

Max pauses while pulling on her leather gloves, completely absorbed in the Logan-ness before her. The room feels very warm all of a sudden.

_I'm not in heat, I'm not in heat, I'm not in heat -_

Logan wheels to the dining room table and solemnly attaches his headset. He extends the second one to Max. She hesitates, only slightly, then takes it and places it on her ear, adjusting it until she's sure it is secure. They both silently activate their own units.

Logan clears his throat.

"Can you hear me?"

"I hear you."

They stare at one another.

"Just in case we get separated… or something," Logan says quietly. His eyes are hopeful but uncertain, strong but vulnerable. Max leans down and kisses his lips with sufficient force to make them both realize he didn't have the brakes locked on the wheelchair. They pull apart and smile, and get down to the business of survival.

Max opens the door and between the two of them, they cope with the awkward step down to the asphalt and he leaves the house. She follows him, wanting to be sure he's alright as he travels to the driver's side. He manages to transfer behind the wheel without any apparent pain beyond a wince when his elbow connects with the doorframe. As he disassembles his chair, he quietly whispers: "Find a way to get the device off the car and into your hand."

Max nods and goes back around the vehicle. She locks the side door, loses her grip on the key and bends down to pick it up, making it seem like she is having difficulty finding it in the dark. Though the magnet is strong, it only takes one sharp pull for her to disengage it. As she slides into the passenger seat and closes the door, she settles against the pole and opens her hand to reveal a white, weatherproof box about half the size of a deck of cards in her palm. The letters 'GPS' are clearly marked in the centre. Logan has put the key in the ignition and glances at it by the light of the dashboard. He starts the engine. It turns on the first try. Max shakes her head and marvels; she's pretty sure they don't make cars like this anymore.

"Looks like a high-end model," he says casually of the tracker. "A battery-powered, magnetic mount, GPS vehicle logger."

"Costs about, what, three hundred?"

"About that." He rolls his shoulders and sighs.

"You sure you're okay to drive?"

"I can get us to the garage." One headlight shines mournfully into the darkness as he slowly backs the Aztek into the street. "You're going to have to drive the new car, though."

She notes he states it like a fact, not a bitter reminder that the world isn't designed for him anymore.

The directions are fairly straightforward but it quickly becomes apparent that they aren't driving towards the garage Sebastian indicated. For a moment, she wonders if Logan has changed his mind about going. She looks around and checks the signs as they come to a stop at a T-junction.

From here, they could take the I-5 north or south. Max knows they are approximately one hundred and forty miles south of the U.S.-Canadian border. _Are we going to British Columbia?_ They can access the I-90 from here as well and begin a journey east. There is a fair amount of traffic. _Busy for a Sunday night…_

"This is _not _the garage," she observes, her voice reminiscent of the children's host once more. The woman has a knack for stating the blindingly obvious.

"Nope."

"Where is Mr. Teddy taking us?"

Logan laughs.

Max thinks it's weird, hearing him beside her as well as over her headset, but she doesn't switch it off. They stayed connected this way during a mission that went seriously wrong and she isn't going to tamper with Fate.

Turning right will eventually lead them onto the I-90. He turns right and heads towards the express lanes.

"Were looking for a truck, preferably with out-of-state plates." His voice is husky, tense. It reminds her of his broadcasts and she feels a sudden thrill to know that, despite everything he's gone through, Eyes Only is still in the game. "Once we've found one, I need you to lean out the window as we pass, without the driver noticing, and secure the tracker to it."

Max raises an eyebrow as understanding lessens her concern. "Anything else?" she inquires, her tone almost playful.

He looks at her and chuckles then focusses on the road and changes lanes again. "No, that's all for now." His smile fades. "It's - It's the best I can come up with on short notice."

It isn't impossible. Max knows she can do it. She's done more complicated things than sticking her body out of a moving vehicle and attaching something to another moving vehicle. That's nothing compared with some of her heists. After escaping from Manticore, she hitched a ride on several trucks without alerting the driver to her presence. She can do _this_ in a snap.

Something makes her glance at Logan. She notices his fingers tightening on the wheel. He licks his lips, a small but recognizable sign of nervousness.

Realization blossoms. _Even though I'm a souped-up soldier, he's worried about me._ She can imagine the guilt he's dealing with as he drives, knowing he's asking her, once again, to do something he considers risky.

_Something _he _can't do…_

Max has been shot at, blown up, and forced to fight more times since knowing Logan Cale than she really cares to acknowledge, though with her mind, the tally of events is always there. A curse and a blessing.

She has never noticed his fear for her as much as she does right now.

A glow of light grows amongst the industrial buildings they are passing and draws her attention. She smiles.

"I have a better idea…"


	16. Chapter 16

April 12, 2006: My apologies for taking so long with this next chapter. I've been working on 'Getting Away From It All' and that story is coming to a close. Took me away from **here** for a bit, though…

In fact, you might want to read the previous chapter first, lol!

My thanks to Alaidh, the Almighty Beta, who continues to journey with me through the night with our heroes-on-the-run. :)

**April 30, 2006**: Please note that I've never been to Seattle and my Beta has only been there twice. My apologies if the freeways or streets don't make sense with 'reality'. Do not, I repeat, **do not** use any of the chapters in this story as a map if you ever go there. ;)

Enjoy!

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Sixteen**

"This is _not _the garage," Max observes, her voice reminiscent of the children's host once more. Logan shakes his head. She mimics her very well. _What is her name? Judy? Jody? The woman has a knack for stating the blindingly obvious._ It amazes him that the show has an audience, but then he isn't a pre-schooler and probably misses the subtleties of the program.

"Nope." Logan is checking the traffic, considering his options, and scrutinizes the two cars that have pulled up behind them in his rear-view mirror. _Are we being followed?_ They wouldn't have to get this close, not with the GPS device, but it doesn't hurt to be cautious.

"Where is Mr. Teddy taking us?"

Logan laughs. _Figures Max wouldn't be fazed by any of this._

Even as he thinks that, he knows it isn't true. To the casual observer, she would probably appear relaxed but there is an underlying tension as she sits beside him, bent at a rather awkward angle due to the pole. Her eyes are scanning the road and she's flexing the gloved fingers of her left hand around the tracking device, ready for action, almost aching for it. She probably doesn't like the running and hiding part of this evening's agenda and he can't blame her. Although a confrontation wouldn't be the first thing he'd choose, he'd rather have this resolved than have it continue.

He looks at the jagged end of the pole and shudders. It punctured the glove compartment but halted just short of going all the way through. He tries not to think what would have happened if she'd been in the car with him when the bomb had detonated.

_Focus._

They've stopped at a T-junction and he has to choose a direction. He'll have plenty of time later to review his mistakes and berate himself for not knowing, somehow, that it was a set-up.

_Focus, you idiot._

He knows the headsets are unnecessary right now but they might come in handy before the night is over. He leaves his switched on. He rather likes the sound of her voice murmuring in his ear. It reminds him of the intimate moments they shared before the explosion, blocks away from one another and yet able to say so much. They stayed connected because of the headsets during a mission that went seriously wrong and he isn't going to tamper with Fate.

Turning right will eventually lead them onto the I-90. He turns right and heads towards the freeway.

"Were looking for a truck, preferably with out-of-state plates." His throat is dry and his voice sounds raspy, as if he hasn't spoken for days. He's amazed he's still able to form words he's so tired. Pure adrenalin will only get him so far, though. "Once we've found one, I need you to lean out the window as we pass, without the driver noticing, and secure the tracker to it."

Max raises an eyebrow. "Anything else?" she inquires, her tone almost playful.

He looks at her, wondering why he's surprised that she's fallen into the banter they enjoy so much, and chuckles as he changes lanes again. "No, that's all for now." He can feel his smile fade. _Damn._ "It's - It's the best I can come up with on short notice." _Why am I stammering? I've been tired before._

Logan hopes he's up to the challenge of being the driver for the task he has proposed. If he doesn't maintain speed with the truck they target, if he wavers in any way, Max could be injured, even killed. It isn't a brilliant plan and yet she seems to be going along with it. He's sure she's accomplished more dangerous assignments - reaching the skylight of a certain apartment to liberate Bast amongst many other examples indicates she _definitely_ has - and he does have some skill behind the wheel.

And a manoeuvre like this had always looked exciting on television when he was a kid.

_Doubt. _

The desire to be involved, to take an active role, not just sit at a computer and spew information is shadowed by months of being unable to do much of anything. He is broken - a marionette with tangled strings that won't allow him to function properly anymore.

Briefly, yes. There was hope, so fleeting and beautiful, that his legs had returned. Did he blame her for the failure with the transfusion? Of course not. He'd been angry with himself and God for that twist of the knife. Neither of them could have known it wouldn't last. Did it hurt? He can't deny he aches for that moment on the beach when he held Max and looked down into her eyes from a height he had almost forgotten. His fingers tighten on the steering wheel. He licks his lips, a nervous habit he recognizes but can't restrain.

Is he that desperate to prove his worth to Max - to himself - that he'd risk her life?

_I'm going to get her killed trying to pull off some stupid trick so my macho ego can be appeased._

_Pathetic._

Logan can feel her eyes on him and can only imagine what emotions are evident on his face, even in profile. The lights from the vehicles travelling in the other direction flare erratically across his skin and he squints as they pass, doggedly following the lines on the road with the one remaining headlight. Of course, she doesn't need much light to see anything and he wonders why he keeps forgetting that little detail. Wonders if he'll ever get used to being the sidekick to a superhero.

_Wonders if she'll let him spend the rest of his life finding out._

Max has grown quiet as she contemplates some inner debate. When she smiles, it is genuine and comforting, as if she's resolved a very sensitive dilemma.

"I have a better idea…"

It's his turn to raise an eyebrow. He is simultaneously relieved and disappointed.

But mostly relieved.

"Good," he says, and hopes his voice conveys the right level of sincerity. He glances at her quickly and decides the tiny smirk of comprehension on her face is evidence of his failure as an actor.

"Don't worry, Batman," she says lightly, affectionately. "We'll need your detective skills to figure this thing out. We've got a mystery to solve."

Max ducks her shoulder under the pole and stretches her left arm towards him, gently rubbing his right side with the back of her hand, the GPS device still in her grasp. She's trying to reassure him. He recognizes the comforting gesture and knows intellectually that it's nothing more - not in the car, while he's driving.

But he swears he can feel the heat of her body even though she's wearing leather gloves and he's wearing this thick, soft sweater. The pressure of her knuckles against his ribs increases and becomes a lazy, circular pattern and is very… distracting.

Pleasant, hell yeah, but distracting. He clears his throat. The hand hesitates then withdraws.

"Sorry," she whispers, and the word flutters through his headset as well.

_Sorry you touched me? Sorry you played 'Truth or Dare'? Sorry you weren't there to stop a bullet, Wonder Woman? No, please -_

"Don't be sorry," he murmurs. He hears her quick intake of breath and holds his own, waiting for Max to release hers. She lets it out slowly and he relaxes - as much as he can and still remain conscious enough to drive. _What is she thinking? Have I said something wrong?_

"Take the next exit and turn right at the lights."

Logan checks his mirrors, signals and makes the ramp with a few car lengths to spare. The intersection is busy, primarily with freight trucks moving to and from the I-90. _What it must cost to fuel one of those things_. He stops at the red light and switches the air from vent to internal. The fumes are particularly strong here. He sighs. The exterior of the vehicle has been compromised because of the damage so he doesn't know why he bothers. A drizzle has started but he isn't sure if he should try the wipers. Something is rattling somewhere and he's reminded of the unusual picture they are presenting to the world right now.

_We were just in an accident and on our way to report it to the police._

_We picked up some plumbing at the hardware store and it shifted in transit._

_I'm driving a new hybrid vehicle, why do you ask, officer?_

He sighs and signals right, uncertain if the rear lights are actually still working, and finally looks down the road.

And stares.

The long blare of a car horn snaps him back to being a driver. He quickly notes the green light and makes his turn.

The sign for 'The Big Wheel Truck Stop and Motel' glows fluorescent blue in the night. The design reminds Logan of something from those fifties detective movies, though the technology speaks of more recent times. As they approach, he confirms that it isn't fluorescent at all, merely replicating that retro look. There are about six huge lanes set aside for fuelling the 'big rigs', like landing strips for jets, and a huge restaurant to the right for fuelling the drivers. An aluminum corridor that looks like it was added later connects a convenience store to the restaurant. The motel is to the left on the other side of the parking lot, no doubt in an effort to tone down the noise of the trucks going about their business.

He has no idea how long this establishment has been here but then he's never had any reason to be aware of it. Business is brisk if the number of trucks in the lot and the number of diners visible through the restaurant windows are any indication of success. Two rigs rumble in behind them to join a third at the pumps, like giant creatures prowling for food.

"'Open twenty-four hours'," he reads the slowly blinking sign aloud as they circle the massive pumps and find a spot to park near the convenience store. He puts the parking brake on but leaves the engine running, turning to look at Max.

She grins. "Got a twenty?"

"Pudding didn't fill you, huh?" he counters good-naturedly, reaching for his pockets before remembering he isn't wearing his pants or jacket. He sighs and reaches across her lap to the remnants of the glove compartment. He has to rest his arms on her thighs to stretch under the pole.

_Heat._ Her skin is warm through her leather pants. Once more, he tries not to think about it, though at least he isn't driving at the moment.

The door to the compartment isn't budging. Max suddenly grabs it with both hands and rips it off. _Wonder Woman, indeed._

"Thanks," he manages, and searches with his fingers for the wallet of emergency cash he keeps there. Her breathing is shallow and quick and he wonders if her ribs are still giving her trouble. Manticore designed them to heal fast and heal well but it has been a trying day. "Ah-ha!" He finds it and withdraws, hoping he hasn't hurt her at all.

He straightens and smiles and extends the wallet to her triumphantly. He feels flushed from maintaining that position and a bit light-headed still from lack of sleep and food. He's probably grinning like a fool but doesn't really care. "Here. Go crazy."

Max is staring at him, lips parted, eyes wide. _Am I missing something?_

"Max?"

Her head twitches slightly once and she takes the wallet with two fingers from her left hand while opening the door with her right.

"Wantcoffeeorsomethin'?"

It takes him an extra second to figure out what she's just said. "Yeah. That'd be great."

She's out, the door is slamming, and he watches her march around the front of the Aztek to stand beside _his_ door and stare at him. He isn't sure what is going on but he lowers the window and waits.

"Whaddayawannaeat?Chipssandwichbagel -"

"Surprise me, Max." He frowns. "Are you oh -"

And finds his head jerked forward by one strong hand on the back of his skull, fingers pulling at his hair. Her mouth covers his and makes it impossible to speak. The force and intensity of the kiss leave him weak and he moans when her tongue goes exploring. Her skin smells incredible. He reaches his left arm through the window and grabs her head just as firmly, fingers tangling with her soft, dark hair, calluses massaging her scalp.

Max finally pulls away when she realizes he's having trouble breathing. He's glad one of them noticed.

They gaze at one another, both reminded of the last time they shared a passionate kiss through a car window. Each can see the memory flicker through the eyes of the other. This time is very different. This time, they are a team and together, they're going to get through this thing.

This time isn't goodbye.

"I'll be right back," she whispers, and tucks the device into her jacket pocket so both hands are free.

"I'll be right here," he says huskily and for a moment he thinks she's going to kiss him again. Reluctantly, she steps away and turns towards the convenience store. He watches her weave around some other cars then loses sight of her behind a van. "Max?"

_Is that mild panic in your voice, Cale? She hasn't been gone thirty seconds yet._

"_I'm here."_ She sounds amused and pleased and happy. _Did I do that?_

"Just sugar," he says, smiling.

She laughs. "_Like I'd forget."_

The headsets come through for them once again.

Logan sits back and listens to the sound of the trucks as she passes them and the voices of other customers when she enters the convenience store. He leans to one side to look through the window but he's parked at the wrong angle and the rain is falling more heavily than before, blurring his view of the world through the pitted windscreen.

Good thing he's parked under a slight overhang. He leaves the window down so he can have some fresh air.

She gets two cups of coffee from the self-serve machine. There is still good coffee to be had in Seattle but this isn't the place he expects to find it. No matter. It will be hot and caffeinated. Over the headset, he can hear the woman behind the cash ask if she needs sugar, explaining that they can't leave it out or it 'walks'. Max gets a few packets and he hears them shaken, ripped open. The plastic stir stick clicks faintly against the paper cups. There is a whisper that he guesses is the pull of napkins from a dispenser. Someone nearby is having a conversation about fuel prices and news regarding plans for road construction. She rummages for something else but he has no idea what it is.

The rain on the roof of the Aztek reminds him of the debris from the fall-out after the explosion. He checks his watch: 9:59 pm. He knows that 'Truth or Dare' began at 7:12 pm. The time is etched in his memory as the beginning of so many things this night. The Aztek's digital clock read 7:48 pm just before the explosion. It doesn't tell the time anymore. They reached the house around eight thirty or so, he figures, though he was losing track a bit by that point. They watched parts of the nine o'clock news and he spoke with Matt, saw coverage of the event, communicated with Sebastian and called Bling. Somewhere in there he flirted with Max and they were horizontal on the couch, lips locked, hands frantic.

And there was pudding, though he has no clear recollection of when she actually _made_ the pudding. They left the safe house about twelve minutes ago and might reach the garage close to the thirty-minute timeline he gave Sebastian.

Time. He's always very aware of the time: _time for a hack, time to meet an informant, time to make lunch for Max, time for my workout with Bling. _He even finds time to eat and sleep, though those aren't high priorities these days. If he isn't busy, he loses focus, and if he loses focus, the Bad Guys win and he will have lots of time to wallow in self-pity for what he'll never be able to have…

_Just get us clear of this Eyes Only mess and give us time together. __Lots of time. Please…_

He doesn't know who he's sending this wish to, but he hopes they are listening tonight.

And if they are, he decides to clarify his wish, as a childhood fairytale reminds him that wishes are dangerous things if you don't catch all the loopholes.

_A long, happy, healthy lifetime together._

He can smell coffee.

A paper cup with a plastic lid appears before him. He's startled but manages not to knock the cup from Max's hand. He turns his head and smiles at her as he accepts it.

"Thanks."

She grins and moves around the front of the Aztek to the passenger side, placing her cup and a bag on the roof of the vehicle while she opens her door. She retrieves the items, passes her cup to Logan to hold as she slides in and shuts the door. She shakes rain from her hair and sighs. The bag goes in her lap.

"Thanks," she says and reclaims her coffee.

Logan raises his window. "What's in the bag?"

Her nose wrinkles slightly. "Pre-made sandwiches, which is all they've got. If we want the good stuff, we'll have to hit the restaurant." She sighs again and looks wistfully out the window at the diners. "But I don't think we have time for that."

"Not really, and we still have to sort out the tracking device before we head for the garage."

Max pulls a sandwich from the bag. It's been sliced diagonally and wrapped in plastic and is probably just fine. In the light from the convenience store sign, he can't tell if the filling is tuna salad or something else. "No we don't."

"Pardon?" She gives him a different sandwich that might be ham and cheese. He turns it over in his hand but isn't really paying attention.

"We can go to the garage right now." She's trying not to smile as she bites into her sandwich.

"And the tracking device is where, exactly?"

She makes him wait while she chews and swallows, before pointing at a truck that is pulling out of the parking lot.

"On it's way to Michigan."

Logan can feel his smile slide into place. It's a pleasant and satisfying moment.

"You're brilliant," he says, putting the vehicle into reverse and backing out. "You know that, right?"

"Yeah, but I like hearing you tell me anyway."

The wipers work sporadically when he tries them. Logan's watch reads 10:01 pm. The rain hisses under the tires as they return to the road and follow Sebastian's directions to the garage.

_Time._

Logan can only hope.


	17. Chapter 17

**May 28, 2006:** On the road again… 

My continued thanks to Alaidh, the Almighty Beta, who ensures I'm on track and endures my 'present tense' writing with great aplomb. ;)

I'd like to thank all the folks who read and those who also take a minute to review. Your feedback is greatly appreciated. :)

**June 17, 2006:** Sorry for the delay in getting this chapter done. A lot happens here that sets up the rest of the story so it took a bit longer to organize. Taking a stab at getting this posted…

Enjoy!

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Seventeen**

"Max?"

Her head twitches slightly once and she takes the wallet with two fingers from her left hand while opening the door with her right. She has to get out of the car immediately or she'll go insane.

"Wantcoffeeorsomethin'?"

_What is wrong with me? I'm sitting next to Logan in a broken ride, on the run from bad guys we haven't even identified yet, we've both been injured and it's all I can do not to -_

He looks a bit puzzled and she doesn't blame him. "Yeah. That'd be great."

She's out, slamming the door and walking briskly around the front of the Aztek to stand beside _his_ door and stare at him. He lowers the window and waits for her to say something.

_What am I trying to do here?_

"Whaddayawannaeat?Chipssandwichbagel -"

"Surprise me, Max." He frowns. "Are you oh -"

She places one hand on the back of his head, fingers pulling at his short, light brown hair, and closes the distance between them quickly. Her mouth covers his and he responds enthusiastically. The force and intensity of the kiss leave her weak and he moans when her tongue goes exploring. His skin smells incredible. He reaches his left arm through the window and grabs her head just as firmly, fingers tangling with her soft, dark hair, calluses massaging her scalp.

Max finally pulls away when she realizes he's having trouble breathing. If she doesn't make a move for the store, she'll be crawling through the window onto his lap and doing things to him that barely scratch the surface of some of her fantasies.

_Logan is in the driver's seat, the back reclined. She straddles him and fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. He smiles, reaches up for her with those beautiful hands -_

She gives her head a small shake, the fantasy replaced by their parting at the cabin, the last time they shared a passionate kiss through a car window. She can tell he's remembering it as well. This time is very different. This time, they are a team, and together they're going to get through this thing.

_This time isn't goodbye._

"I'll be right back," she whispers, and tucks the device into her jacket pocket.

"I'll be right here," he says huskily and for a moment she thinks her will has been broken and she's going to give in and kiss him again. Reluctantly, she steps away and turns towards the convenience store. Not thirty seconds have elapsed before she hears his voice over the headset. "_Max?"_

"I'm here." He sighs, sounding relieved and pleased and happy. _Did I do that?_

"_Just sugar,"_ he says, and she can tell he's smiling.

She laughs. "Like I'd forget."

She enters the store. There is a radio behind the counter playing classic rock. After a few seconds, she recognizes The Rolling Stones 'Jumpin' Jack Flash'. The station isn't tuned properly and that grates against her senses.

It's warmer in here but the air still feels damp, penetrating everything. Not a big surprise, considering the weather, but the windows are slightly foggy from the poorly directed heaters and she wonders how the woman behind the counter can stand working in here. _Suffocating._ She's reminded of being in Logan's apartment during a storm, so different from this place. Being with him on a regular basis is something she's used to now, like breathing. When did she unconsciously start scheduling her visits around mealtime? Ten months ago now? Eleven?

How long has she known Logan?

Max smirks. _Took me long enough to discover he's a terrific kisser._

The self-serve coffee machine is placed prominently near the cash register. She takes two paper cups and dispenses coffee into them. There are good beans available in Seattle but she doesn't expect to find them here. No matter. It will be hot and caffeinated and, as far as she's concerned, that's what they both need right now.

The woman behind the cash asks if she needs sugar, explaining that they can't leave it out or it 'walks'. Max gets a few packets, rips them and adds them to Logan's coffee. She takes cream and isn't going to think too hard about the nature of the white stuff she's given to use. The plastic stir stick clicks faintly against the paper cups. She finds the napkin dispenser, which is hidden by one of the patrons, who is leaning against the counter talking about construction and fuel prices and traffic and so on. Sandwiches, cut in half and neatly wrapped in cellophane, sit in a small refrigeration unit. She picks two based entirely on how fresh they look and smell.

The radio station is now playing 'A Hard Day's Night'. She can barely hear it over the sound of the rain but is reminded of the song Logan sang to her, what, an hour and a half ago? He has a beautiful voice and she wonders why she's never heard him sing before. Wonders if he sang to his ex.

_Wonders how she can get him to sing to her again._

She sighs, pays the woman and leaves the store.

_Time to find my target._

She passes a few trucks, all of which have Washington plates. Doesn't mean they aren't leaving the state, but there are no guarantees. A few are moving and that makes them unsuitable. She doesn't want to get noticed, and running after a truck through a busy, well-lit parking lot would make her the floorshow for all the diners in the restaurant. It only takes her a few minutes of scanning plates to find an appropriate candidate. The engine is even running and it is aimed at the exit. The driver is hurrying back through the rain with a cup of coffee.

It looks promising and she doesn't have all night and it _is_ raining.

Cats hate to get wet.

Juggling her hold on two coffees and a paper bag - _maybe I shoulda got rid of the stupid thing first_ - the tracking device is quickly and efficiently attached to the underside of the truck. Max returns to the Aztek, an extra wiggle to her hips and a very satisfied expression on her face.

Logan still has the window down but there's an overhang giving him a break from the rain. He seems far away. She smiles.

It takes him a few seconds to realize there's a paper cup in front of his face. She manages not to laugh. _He really was a million miles away._ _Wonder what he was thinkin' about?_

He's startled but manages not to knock the cup from Max's hand. He turns his head and smiles at her as he accepts it.

"Thanks."

She grins and moves around to the passenger side, placing her cup and the bag on the roof of the vehicle while she opens her door. She retrieves the items, passes her cup to Logan to hold and quickly slides in, pulling the door shut behind her. She shakes rain from her hair and sighs. The bag goes in her lap.

"Thanks," she says and reclaims her coffee. Their fingers touch, just casually. Even though she's wearing her gloves, Max feels like she's been burned by their connection. Logan raises his window, apparently oblivious. Max rolls her eyes. _Natural state for this male…_

"What's in the bag?"

"Pre-made sandwiches, which is all they've got. If we want the good stuff, we'll have to hit the restaurant." She sighs again and looks wistfully out the window at the diner. She'd kill for a steak right now. Meat. _She wants meat._ She squelches the desire and hopes Logan doesn't notice that her attention is wandering. "But I don't think we have time for that."

"Not really, and we still have to sort out the tracking device before we head for the garage."

Max pulls both sandwiches from the bag. _Won't Eyes Only be pleased?_ She manages to keep her expression neutral. "No we don't."

"Pardon?" She gives him one, not caring which one she eats as long as it's _food_.

"We can go to the garage right now." She's trying not to smile as she bites into her sandwich. _Mmmm, tuna…_

"And the tracking device is where, exactly?"

She makes him wait while she chews and swallows, before pointing at a truck that is pulling out of the parking lot.

"On its way to Michigan."

Logan smiles one of his genuine, mega-watt smiles. She melts in her seat and is happy, happy, happy.

"You're brilliant," he says, putting the vehicle into reverse and backing out. "You know that, right?"

God, she loves the sound of his voice. It is smooth and comforting like dark chocolate. And he's praising her. It shouldn't mean as much as it does, but there's no helping it. She sighs, content. "Yeah, but I like hearing you tell me anyway."

The wipers are having some difficulties but they make it a bit easier to see where they're going. She glances at his wrist. Logan's watch reads 10:01 pm. The rain hisses under the tires as they return to the road and follow Sebastian's directions to the garage.

She finishes one half of her sandwich and starts on the other before Logan has finished his second bite.

"Hungry?"

She glares at him playfully and he laughs. He has such a handsome profile: perfect and pleasing and suitable for a coin. Strong, confident and reliable. A face people can believe in.

_And they do. _Max smiles. _And he manages that with only his eyes…_

Some of the Roman emperors didn't fare very well in the looks department nor did being on a coin make them particularly good rulers. Logan has one of the most incredible faces she's ever seen. The fact that he's a pretty amazing man makes him a potent combination.

The image of him in a toga comes to her, unbidden, and she has to turn away, her cheeks warm. _Damn._

She thinks about the moment they stood before a mirror in his apartment and he complimented her on her face. That was not his finest hour. So much has happened since that night. She glances over at him again. He's finished the first half of his sandwich and uses his sense of touch to tuck the second, still wrapped in cellophane, into the storage compartment behind his handbrake where he stores his CDs. His eyes never leave the road.

Tuna and coffee have helped to reinvigorate her. Her ribs don't hurt as much and neither does her head. Manticore was very thorough when it came to the recovery time of their investments.

They continue in 'companionable silence', a term Max has read about but never thought would apply to a road trip with Logan. Usually they're a little tense. Something occurs to her: there's nowhere to go in the Aztek. _Maybe it has something to do with our proximity and this unresolved sexual tension…_

Max glances over at him again, hopeful. _...which seems to have been resolved, now…_

A few turns later, they pass several darkened industrial malls and see the garage coming up on the left. It is situated next to a scrap yard, which must come in handy. Why it is open on a Sunday night, at this late hour, is probably something she shouldn't speculate about. Max quickly surveys the area. The building has two bays, both of them open and one of them occupied by an old Cadillac on a hoist. There is a lit space beside them, which seems to be an office/reception area. A few cars are parked out front at an angle and one of them has a 'For Sale' sign taped to the inside of the driver's window. They look to be in good condition, so that says something for the attitude of the owner.

There are four men visible, all wearing dark-coloured coveralls and absorbed by their tasks until one of them notes their arrival and walks out into the rain. Max guesses he's about fifty-five, five-foot-eight and two hundred pounds of muscle. Something in the way he stands suggests a military background and his red hair is cut very short. He wipes his hands on a rag, managing to look confident and unfazed.

Sebastian has his contacts, too, it would seem.

"We're here," Logan says simply, stating the obvious. It's just something he does, especially when he's nervous or tired or isn't sure what to say, a habit she noted early on in their relationship.

_Relationship. I have a relationship with Logan Cale…_

The Aztek comes to a stop in front of the empty bay, lurching a bit as it does. The man backs up, indicating with a tight wave that they should pull in. Max and Logan exchange a brief, wary glance. She nods, ready for anything, and he drives carefully into the bay. Two of the other men pause in their work at the summons of the red-haired man who is obviously their boss. They move behind the Aztek to close the garage door, the steel and tinted windows making it difficult for anyone to see their damaged vehicle.

And impossible for them to back out if this turns sour. Beside her, Logan sighs and reaches for the wheelchair.

She places a hand on his arm to stop him. "I got it," she says quietly, and comes around to assemble it for him. It is a sign of his exhaustion that he lets her.

The red-haired man watches for a moment, eyeing their vehicle, then moves to the driver's side as Logan transfers.

"Hello," he says, raising his voice a bit over the noise of power tools being used on the Cadillac. "A nasty night to be out and about." There is a television playing near the back, mounted up high so it can be seen from most vantage points around the garage but the sound doesn't compete with the roars and squeals of the equipment. His accent reminds Max of those British comedies from the late Twentieth Century. There's a public broadcast station that runs that sort of program 24/7. "You must be Logan and Max."

"We are," Logan says and wheels away from the vehicle while Max closes the door. The concrete floor is uneven, due to age and channels for power cords and so on, but it is negotiable and relatively clean. She can smell rubber and oil, cigarette smoke and someone's cologne. Logan stops next to the man and swivels towards him.

The man extends a beefy hand. "Clive," he states, and they shake hands.

Max figures that anyone who admits his name is 'Clive' must have something going for him.

"Nice to meet you." Logan's hand is released and appears unharmed.

"I'll wager _you're_ Logan, as that would be a silly name for a girl."

Max smiles. She isn't getting any negative vibes off this guy or the place. Maybe she can relax a bit.

"I am," Logan says, laughing quietly. "And this is Max."

Clive tests her grip when they shake hands and Max wonders if maybe she shouldn't relax _too_ much. He's sizing them up.

"A lovely name for a lovely lady." Oddly enough, it doesn't sound as corny as it should. _Must be the accent…_

"Thanks," she says, not sure how else to respond.

"So," Clive begins, circling the Aztek slowly. "Sebastian tells me you've had a wee bit of an accident."

The other three mechanics have glanced over a few times but aren't afraid to meet her gaze and smile. _Hmmm…_

Logan actually shrugs nonchalantly. "As you can see." His voice is a little strained right now and she wonders how much longer he'll be able to function. Max doesn't intervene, though. She'll take her cues from Logan on this one.

"Had a disagreement with a sign post, did you?" He frowns as he reads it. "I know this intersection."

_So much for getting that by him…_

"We came to an understanding." Logan's expression is neutral. Clive turns to look at him. "The sign post and I. I give it a lift and it contributes towards the gas."

There is a pause and then Clive's face breaks into a broad grin. "Not bad for this time of night."

"Thanks," Logan says dryly. "I'm here 'til Tuesday. Try the veal."

Both men smile. Max sighs. _Must be some kinda male-cultural-bonding reference thing…_

The news is playing on the television, showing footage of the burning buildings. Max seems to be the only one who has noticed.

Clive finishes his initial inspection and stops beside Logan.

"She's a beauty," he says quietly. Between the headset and her sensitive hearing, Max can hear him without difficulty.

Logan smiles broadly. "Oh, yeah. I don't know what I'd do without her. High maintenance but well worth it. We've been through a lot together."

"Aye, I can imagine." Clive winks at Max. "An' the vehicle is quite somethin', too."

She stifles a snort. Logan's hands tighten on the wheel rims, his eyebrows lift and his necks flushes with embarrassment.

"Uh," he says, his eyes flicking towards her. "Yeah. Right."

Max grins at him cheekily, bouncing a little on the balls of her feet, quietly enjoying his discomfort. It is a nice little interlude after the night from Hell and she'll take it, thank you. Logan's eyes narrow suddenly and his lips curve in a suggestive smile, his expression changing in a blink to something sexy and dangerous. Her stomach flips and she isn't sure how she refrains from jumping his bones right here and now.

Clive waves a hand at the Aztek. "You'd like her fixed, I take it?" Max guesses he doesn't want _that_ question to be misinterpreted as he reaches out to pat the dented hood.

"Yes, please. That'd be great."

"I gather you've got places to go tonight." The burly man walks towards a door that probably leads to the office space Max noticed earlier. He doesn't seem to be fishing for information so much as alluding to his understanding of their circumstances. Max moves to stand beside Logan, placing a hand on his right shoulder.

_Protection. Support. Love._

"No rest for the weary," Logan states casually.

"I can reach you through Sebastian, I presume," Clive continues, opening the door and searching through some papers on an old wooden desk. Max watches him carefully, just in case. He seems nice enough but they don't know him. Nothing has been quite what it seems this evening. Better cautious than dead.

"That's right."

Clive returns with two pieces of paper and a pen that has the name of an insurance company stamped onto it. "If you'll just sign here, and here, we'll get to it as soon as we can." Logan glances at the documents. Max reads them quickly over his shoulder: standard permission repair forms. She watches as he rotates the pen in one hand while he focusses on the papers and she wonders how much of it he's absorbing. He must be exhausted. She knows he's Logan Cale, Man Obsessed, and knows he thinks he's Superman sometimes, but he's only human and his personal energy resources must be thoroughly tapped out.

He signs each sheet next to the 'x' at the bottom, thus giving his permission for the extensive work that the mechanics will face. The papers are folded and tucked into a pocket of Clive's coveralls.

"And now, I believe your ride is here," he says casually, as if they've just spent the evening as his guests and he wants to see them safely home.

A vehicle has entered the parking lot outside. Max gives it a quick check through the tinted windows on the garage door: a Chevrolet Uplander in Bordeaux Red. _Fairly recent model, maybe even post-Pulse._ Not exactly inconspicuous but the minivan has power and lots of room. Max has jacked a model similar to this one.

"Uh," Logan starts, "we have some… items that need to -"

"Gents!"

The other three mechanics stop whatever task they're doing - Max has deduced they are rescuing the Caddie from the crusher - and move towards the Aztek. Clive helps Max with the garage door - not that she needs it, of course - while the others follow Logan's minimal directions and carry the bags and case of water outside.

A young woman emerges from the Uplander and opens the sliding door on the passenger side. She's dressed casually in jeans, a sweater and hiking boots. The rain slicker she has pulled over the top isn't zipped closed but the rain has lessened slightly. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back loosely with an elastic, but unruly pieces have already freed themselves. Max notes the glasses, freckles and smile despite the late hour and strangeness of the circumstances.

Sebastian has been hiding all sorts of things, it would appear.

The woman sweeps her gaze over both of them, lingering on Logan and the wheelchair.

"Hi, I'm Nicole," she says, and energetically shakes both their hands in quick succession, "and _this_ is your ride. Hope you like it. It's pretty good on wet roads. I hear you've got an Aztek?" She shakes her head but doesn't pause for them to answer. "Never driven one of those. Do they have good mileage? Oh, wait, Sebastian said quite clearly that you were in a hurry and here I am babbling about cars. I'll hear about this from him, I'm sure. Never mind." She tosses Max the keys and nods when they are caught with lightning accuracy. The 'gents' have loaded their belongings into the back seat of the vehicle and are returning to their mission with the Caddie. "Nice catch. Clive?" The mechanic straightens. "I need a lift back home, please."

"Of course." The burly man shakes Logan's hand once more. "Best of luck with whatever it is you're doin', lad."

"Thanks, for everything."

Clive smiles. "Anything to help those who help Eyes Only."

He shakes Max's hand, winks at her, and walks towards one of the cars in the lot.

"Well, gotta go. It's been brief but fun." Nicole smiles and more handshaking ensues. "Maybe we can get together when this is over and chat? I'm a big fan of 'EO' and when Sebastian got your message I was so there to help out."

"Sure," Logan says, looking bemused. Max can tell by the way he's gripping the wheels that sleep might not come easily for him tonight because he's overtired now; wired, in fact, would be a good word. "Have you known Sebastian long?"

"About two years now, I guess." She looks upward and appears to be thinking. "Yep, two years." She looks back at Logan and smiles. "Go on, I _know_ you wanna ask."

A slow smile blossoms across Logan's face. "How did you meet?"

"Would you believe at a conference on Synaptic Function and Plasticity? I'm a psychologist and physiotherapist, particularly interested in the treatment of folks like Sebastian."

"Cool," Max says. She's lost count of the number of times this evening she hasn't been sure how to react.

"He's waiting on me to restart the movie."

"Movie?" Max is trying to follow the conversation and wonders when the evening's plot is going to be revealed so she can get a handle on all the threads.

Nicole laughs. "We'd just finished dinner and were watching 'Die Hard', _again_. He has it on pause while I'm out."

Logan's head cocks to one side. "'Die Hard'? Bruce Willis, right?"

"Action flicks and computer puzzles, that's my baby."

"Nicole?"

"Sorry, Clive. Coming!" The woman jogs to where Clive has started the black Corvette. "Bye!" she calls over her shoulder, then jumps into the passenger seat and with a wave they're gone.

Max and Logan exchange a look. He swallows.

"Sebastian's girlfriend?" he asks tentatively.

"Could be," Max replies. "Could be they're just friends." They silently move towards the passenger side and Logan transfers into the vehicle. He lets Max help him breakdown the wheelchair, another sign that, though he's wired, he's not fully 'on-line' right now. "They might not be… 'like that'…" He glances at her. She raises an eyebrow, hoping that communicates that she's just teasing him, reminding him of how they were not 'like that' twenty-four hours ago. He looks uncertain so she shoves the last part into the back seat and leans into the window of the passenger door. The grip she has on either side of his head is strong and firm, and her kiss is thorough and reassuring.

With everything that's happened this evening, she's almost forgotten how fragile he can be, especially when it comes to trusting someone enough to bare his soul. She will not let him retreat behind his walls. Not anymore.

_Not ever again._

Then his hand is in her hair and she's lost to the feel of his lips.

When they pull apart, there is something in his eyes that says love and lust and she isn't sure how to react to either one beyond instinct.

Instinct that tells her this is going to be a long night of trying to resist her desires.

"We'd better get going," Logan says, his voice rough.

"Yeah." She slides the side door shut then hurries around the front of the vehicle and gets settled behind the wheel. "So," she continues casually, starting the engine and putting the Uplander into gear. "Where, exactly, are we going?"

He smiles. "You'll see."

Max activates the headlights and presses her foot on the accelerator.


	18. Chapter 18

**July 28, 2006:** Sorry for the delay. I wanted to finish 'Getting Away From It All' before I continued here. J

My continued thanks to Alaidh, the Almighty Beta. I value her assistance on this difficult mission. :D

In case I haven't mentioned this - and in case anyone was wondering - any properties described in this story are fictional. There might be similar businesses that exist in our time in the areas indicated but they are in no way related to the ones in this story.

I'd like to thank all the folks who read and those who also take a minute to review. Your feedback is greatly appreciated. J

**August 3, 2006:** This chapter is a bit longer than I thought it would be. Finally getting this off to Alaidh. J

**September 6, 2006:** This took a while to get organized. Life intervened, but doesn't it always? Sending this off to Alaidh for another round…

**November 28, 2006:** Well, I now have the chapter back and I'm going to post it as soon as I can. At least it's a long one. My thanks to Alaidh for Betaing through adversity and computer hiccups.

If anyone still remembers this story, I hope you continue to enjoy. ;)

**Thoughts in the Dark**

**Chapter Eighteen**

"And now, I believe your ride is here," Clive says casually, as if they've just spent the evening as his guests and he wants to see them safely home.

Logan guesses a vehicle has entered the parking lot outside. He notes Max is looking through the tinted windows of the garage door and wonders what she sees.

"Uh," Logan starts, uncertain, wishing he didn't need to ask for help but well aware that now is not a good time to be stubborn. _Another reminder that I can't even do the simplest tasks anymore._ "We have some… things that need to -"

"Gents!"

Clive has a voice that could penetrate a soundproof room.

The other three mechanics stop their work on the Cadillac and converge on the Aztek. Clive moves quickly to help Max lift the garage door. Logan presses his lips together in thought. How would the burly mechanic react if he knew Max could lift _him_ without breaking a sweat?

He realizes the other men are patiently waiting for some direction.

"Uh, right." Logan clears his throat. "There're a couple of bags, a case of water…" They open the doors and efficiently, respectfully, retrieve the items as he speaks. He notes their curious looks as they have their first close view of the pole that skewered the vehicle, but they don't ask any questions. Absently, he wonders what sort of damage is considered unusual for them, wonders how he's going to retrieve the Aztek once it is ready - and how much the repairs will cost.

Wonders if Max has recovered from her head injury sufficiently to drive.

Logan sighs. _A little late to think about that now._

He opens the passenger door and stares at the remnants of the glove compartment. Reaching inside, his fingers locate a cord and he tugs it out: the charger for his cell phone. He peers at it: intact. _Good._ He tucks it between his thighs. He finds the bent frame of his sunglasses: missing a lens. _Not so good._ He tosses them back into the vehicle and doesn't note where they land.

_Lucky your back-up cash wasn't destroyed, Cale. Count your blessings._

He senses one of the mechanics has returned but he doesn't look up. Instead he says, "There's a removable cooler between the front seats. Could you pull it out and just…" He glances into the drizzle and sighs. "Give it to me," he finishes, patting his right thigh. It's still strange to watch his hand touch his leg and not feel anything at all. The mechanic - who is possibly still in high school given how young he looks - steps up, kneels on the seat and tugs at the cooler. Logan can hear things shift inside it: the rustle of plastic, the clatter of CD cases. Other than half of his sandwich, he honestly can't remember what else is in there.

He _does_ remember very clearly when he had the vehicle converted to accommodate his new status. Bling was with him, supportive of Logan's need to 'get on with it, already', though he'd received the Eyebrow of Disapproval at his reasoning.

"Eyes Only can't be crippled," Logan had said bitterly.

"You'll need to get around for things other than meets with contacts," his friend had commented quietly.

"Like what?" Logan had snapped. "Taking someone on a _date_? I guess if they like the drive-in…"

Bling had refrained from responding to that outburst, which was probably just as well.

Logan had hated the vehicle for what it represented. For the rest of his life, he was destined to rely on things with wheels in order to get around.

Then he'd loved it for the freedom it provided, and for a chance to feel the wind howl around him once more. On his first trip alone after the conversion, he had lowered all the windows and taken the Aztek through her paces in the Washington countryside. It might have been a waste of fuel but he didn't care.

Bling hadn't commented on the layers of mud that covered the vehicle or the chunks of grass on the front bumper. Logan had asked his friend to arrange for someone to give it a rare cleaning. He'd felt some guilt and it was the least he could do, especially since Bling occasionally drove it as well. The physiotherapist had caught the keys tossed at him and provided one of his big, gentle smiles. Logan had responded to the smile but only after he'd left the parking garage.

He pulls a key off his key ring and gives it to the young man, who accepts it solemnly.

With one last look at his ride and a silent promise to do whatever it takes to make her better, he murmurs his thanks to the mechanic, balances the cooler on his lap and wheels into the night to find Max.

A young woman is approaching from a red Chevrolet Uplander. The sliding door on the passenger side is open so their belongings can be loaded. The woman is casually dressed in jeans, a sweater, hiking boots and a rain slicker. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back loosely from her face. Logan notes the glasses and the smile.

Sebastian has been hiding all sorts of things, it would appear.

The woman sweeps her gaze over both of them, lingering on him for an extra few beats. He gets the impression she is checking out the design of his wheelchair.

"Hi, I'm Nicole," she says, and energetically shakes both their hands in quick succession, "and _this_ is your ride. Hope you like it." She continues to speak but Logan finds himself zoning a bit. Lack of sleep, stress and only instant noodles, chocolate pudding and half a sandwich in his stomach over the last ten hours is taking its toll.

_Oh, and the bleeding,_ he adds wryly to himself. _That might have something to do with it, too._

The 'gents' have placed their belongings on the back seat of the Uplander and are returning to the dryness of the garage. Nicole tosses Max a set of keys and the action draws him back to the conversation. "Nice catch," Nicole says, and he wonders how much Sebastian has told her. "Clive?" The mechanic straightens. "I need a lift back home, please."

"Of course." The burly man shakes Logan's hand once more. The strength evident in the grip makes him think that, given sufficient incentive, Clive could probably crush his fingers. "Best of luck with whatever it is you're doin', lad."

"Thanks for everything."

Clive smiles. "Anything to help those who help Eyes Only."

_I'll have to remember that,_ Logan thinks, and files it away for future reference. He's glad his alter ego is echoing beyond the downtown core. Maybe he _is_ making a difference -

Clive shakes Max's hand, winks at her, and walks towards one of the cars in the lot.

"Well, gotta go. It's been brief but fun." Nicole smiles and more handshaking ensues. "Maybe we can get together when this is over and chat? I'm a big fan of 'EO' and when Sebastian got your message I was so there to help out."

"Sure," Logan says, though he has trouble envisioning the four of them sitting around, discussing the weather over canapés. He discovers he's gripping his wheelchair for support, hoping the feel of the rims cutting into his palms will help ground him. He can't rest yet, not yet, not until they're safe.

Whatever 'safe' means.

He tries to focus and says the first thing that comes to mind. "Have you known Sebastian long?" He regrets asking it immediately. It's a personal question and he isn't comfortable with personal questions himself. He is curious, though, and hopes it doesn't sound like he's asking because he feels socially obligated to ask _something_.

_Why can't the question just be as innocuous as it is? Why do I feel intrusive? _He tries to find the reason. _Nicole is an attractive, vibrant female and she's hanging out with Sebastian, an attractive, brilliant quadriplegic. Why should this be an issue?_

_Too close to home, Cale._ He skips any further analysis.

Nicole doesn't seem to mind the question at all.

"About two years now, I guess." She looks upward and appears to be thinking. "Yep, two years." She returns her gaze to Logan and smiles. "Go on, I _know_ you wanna ask."

He manages a tired but genuine smile in return. "How did you meet?"

"Would you believe at a conference on Synaptic Function and Plasticity?" _Yes, yes I would._ "I'm a psychologist and physiotherapist, particularly interested in the treatment of folks like Sebastian."

"Cool," Max says. Logan doesn't look up at her but he can tell she's absorbing all the information implied about Nicole's relationship with Sebastian and suspects he'll be hearing about it later. _Of course, that assumes she's thinking what I'm thinking -_

"He's waiting on me to restart the movie."

"Movie?"

He hopes Max can explain to him later how movies entered the conversation.

Nicole laughs. "We'd just finished dinner and were watching 'Die Hard', _again_. He has it on pause while I'm out."

_No doubt missing your company._ "'Die Hard'? Bruce Willis, right?"

"Action flicks and computer puzzles, that's my baby."

'_My baby'? As in, Sebastian is her -_

"Nicole?"

"Sorry, Clive. Coming!" Clive has started one of the cars on the lot, a shiny black Corvette that gleams as the rain beads on the hood. "Bye!" she calls over her shoulder then jumps into the passenger seat and, with a wave, they're gone.

Max and Logan exchange a look. He swallows.

"Sebastian's girlfriend?" he asks tentatively.

"Could be," Max replies. "Could be they're just friends." They silently move towards the passenger side of the Uplander. Logan lifts the cooler onto the floor behind the front seat, retrieves his phone charger from between his thighs and shoves it into the top of the cooler. His hands slip a bit on the wheels as he manoeuvres in the drizzle but he manages to open the passenger door and transfer into the vehicle without any intervention from Max. He's slow and it irritates him but he lets her help him break down the wheelchair. "They might not be… '_like that'_…" she continues. Logan pulls his door shut and glances at her. She raises an eyebrow but he isn't sure what she's trying to say. His heart starts to speed up as panic slips into his new world with Max, and he hopes he doesn't look like a kicked puppy.

_Is she teasing me? Joking with me? Have I misinterpreted the last four hours? _

Max abruptly shoves the final part of the wheelchair into the back seat and leans into the window of the passenger door. The grip she has on either side of his head is strong and firm and her kiss is thorough and reassuring.

Logan shouldn't have doubted her - he knows that she won't let him retreat from this change in their relationship. He's seen her love for him in her eyes, knows her touch and knows how she tastes when they kiss. He doesn't want to hide from her anymore.

_Not ever again._

Then his hand is in her hair and he's lost to the feel of her lips.

When they pull apart, she swallows, her eyes drinking him in as if he were a fine Merlot. There is something in the way she's holding his head, stroking his hair that says love and lust and he isn't sure how to react to either one beyond instinct.

Instinct that tells him this is going to be a long night of trying to resist his desires.

"We'd better get going," Logan says, his voice rough.

"Yeah." She slides the side door shut then hurries around the front of the vehicle and gets settled behind the wheel. "So," she continues casually, starting the engine and putting the Uplander into gear. "Where, exactly, are we going?"

He smiles. "You'll see."

Max activates the headlights and presses her foot on the accelerator.

Logan raises his window and provides some directions. "We're headed for Sector 37. Take the I-5 north and turn off at exit 169. Its about four miles." She glances at him but he doesn't say anything more. He's trying to figure out the steps required to reach their goal. At least they're comfortable. The vehicle appears to be in perfect order. The wipers work, the heat is on and the engine runs. That's all he asks for; the rest is gravy.

As they approach the freeway, he decides that her driving is just fine, the turns executed with an almost military accuracy. He _assumes_ Max and her siblings weren't driving at the age of nine but, with Manticore, anything is possible.

Several of his informants have a military background and claim they have left it behind. He can tell that they haven't in the way they stand, the way they move and the way they inevitably sit with their back to the wall so they can see the door. Without exception, they consume the meal he buys for them with the same precision they use to operate their firearms.

He firmly believes that for those who have experienced that kind of training there is no way to deny the influence it has had on their day-to-day lives, but that they can choose what they do with the skills they have learned.

_This applies to Max, whether she realizes it or not._

Logan pulls down the visor and uses the small mirror there to study his face. He hasn't seen himself since before the explosion. He stares, turns his head slowly from side to side, his eyes remaining fixed on the mirror. He looks like he's been mugged and drowned.

Repeatedly.

He drags a hand through his hair once, just to see where it falls, and then wishes he had a hat to conceal the mess. No such luck, of course. _No, that would be too easy_. _Heaven forbid anything in my life these days should be easy. _He doesn't usually care much about his appearance but he's trying for a certain look, one he's established over the last eight months and is attempting to maintain.

_You never know when you might need a bolthole -_

He sighs and drags both hands through his hair rapidly, as if his fingers were a comb, then studies his image again. Max is watching cautiously. He can feel her eyes on him, even though he knows she's focussed on the road. He thought he could multi-task, until he met her - she adds new meaning to the word. Perhaps she's wondering if he's finally snapped.

"I need a drug store," he announces suddenly. Before the Pulse, there was a drug store located at every other intersection. But now -

Logan realizes that he might as well be asking for gourmet coffee, especially at this time of night on a Sunday.

There is a pause before Max says, "Oh-kay…"

He looks at her. "Do you trust me?"

She nods, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Yeah, I trust you."

"Good. We're going for concealment here. I'm usually prepared but…" He shrugs. _You play the hand you're dealt._ "On second thought, never mind about the drug store."

"'kay."

He hesitates then says, "Do you have something to pull your hair back with, maybe?" She slides him a look as she changes lanes. "Just to make you look a little different, you know -"

"I get the idea," she states firmly, grinning to soften her interruption. "I've done this before, remember? Like somethin' outta that spy show, what's-it-called?"

"Uh…"

"Got it: 'Mission: Impossible'."

"Sure. Yeah, that sounds right." He knows she sometimes watches television when she's over at his place and doesn't need the sleep. He can only imagine how many programs she has absorbed. "I'm already in clean clothes," he muses aloud, rubbing his hand absently over the slight stubble on his jaw. "Did you grab any clothes for yourself?"

"A few things."

"Good. You'll need to change before we get there."

"Change into what?"

Logan suddenly finds he can't remember what options he has available. Did he specify any relationships when he was there last? Does the I.D. indicate anything? His previous trip was about one month ago and he was due to visit again in two weeks. He hopes they won't mind if he moves up his reservation. Minutes pass before he realizes he still hasn't answered the question.

"Change into anything you want," he replies, preoccupied with the evening ahead. Considering the state he's in, it is the best he can do.

_At least the key is always with me -_

"Here we are." Max steers to the right at exit 169. "Where to?"

"Go west on N. Northlake Way until you're almost at Gas Works Park. There's a small mall on the left with a parking lot. We can stop there to straighten ourselves out."

"'kay."

The North Union Mall is easy to find. Max pulls into the lot and stops the car in front of Olsen's. It's an amalgamation of several rental units that is a pharmacy crossed with a hardware store and a few other retail functions thrown in for good measure. In the post-Pulse world, it pays not to specialize. Logan vaguely recalls that it also carries a section for rare, high-end items that isn't open to the general public. It's closed.

She turns off the engine. They sit for a moment, watching the headlights dim in the dark store windows. There are two other vehicles in the lot. The van looks abandoned but the Buick is rocking and Logan doesn't have to think very hard to imagine what is going on inside. To the right of the mall is a stretch of scraggly vegetation along a shore reinforced with concrete walls. Lake Union is there and beyond it Gas Works Park, brooding in the rain. They watch silently as a patrol boat moves through the water, its searchlights sweeping for illegal activity.

He doesn't know how much longer he can keep going without food, painkillers, sleep or any combination of the three. _Better get this over with._ He turns to her, catches her chewing her bottom lip as if she's struggling with what to do next and feels he needs to say something to boost both of their spirits.

"We'll get through this, Max." It isn't brilliant but he hopes she finds it reassuring. Logan places a hand on Max's shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze. She leans into his touch and he's startled when her head turns and her lips graze the back of his fingers. He swallows and knows there's a hitch in his breathing.

"Uh, let's sort out our story," he manages to say, retrieving his hand. He can't look away from her and feels like a rabbit caught in the middle of the road. Max is regarding him intensely, her eyes raking his body from head to toe as if he's the only person in the world who matters, the only one who can satisfy her -

He can feel his skin flush, and if he had the nerve, he'd grab her and kiss her so hard even someone with her physical advantages would be gasping for breath. No words are spoken. His face must convey his reaction because she grins cheekily at him. Emboldened by the evening they've had so far and protected by the dark, he gives her his best wolf's grin in return.

She arches one eyebrow. "So, what story do we need? I'm your assistant or something?"

"Yeah, something like that, I guess."

"That isn't much of a story."

"You could be my girlfriend if you'd prefer."

There. It was out of his mouth before he could squash it. They stare at one another, each momentarily uncertain how to react. Max speaks first.

"Those my two options?"

"You want me to think of more?"

Max stares at him a bit more then slowly nods her head. "Okay. I'll be your girlfriend, if that's okay."

Logan smiles. "That's fine," he says. It's more than fine but he isn't going to think about it too much right now. He doesn't have the luxury of time.

"Why're we going to the hotel?"

"We wanted a different view?"

She laughs but says, "That's lame, Logan."

"It's tired and I'm late," he replies, intentionally getting the order of the sentence wrong.

"I bet you say that to all your dates."

Logan shakes his head and sighs. They are exhausted, on the run, desperately seeking to evade the bad guys while finally accepting they're more than just friends - _and flirting?_

Unlike the occupants of the Buick, however, they both know this is neither the time nor the place to be testing the shocks of the Uplander.

Max sits back in her seat and pulls an elastic from one of the pockets of her jacket. She combs her hair back with her fingers to pull it into a ponytail. Giving him a lazy smile, she says, "Be right back," before suddenly flipping herself into the backseat.

He has no idea how she actually managed to do that, but he isn't surprised that she's capable of it. _If anyone can do the impossible -_

"Don't look," she whispers seductively, "I'm changing."

He resists the urge to turn around but catches a flash of movement and flesh in the rear-view mirror while Max locates a top in one of the bags, removes her jacket and black sleeveless t-shirt and then pulls the fresh top over her head.

Their eyes meet in the mirror and she smiles, letting him know she's aware he's peeking - and that it's okay.

Logan clears his throat and says casually, "Nice top."

"Thanks." She rummages through the bag of clothing and pulls out a sweater. "I won't change my pants right now, but the rest of me will look different - and clean."

"Great." She flips back into the driver's seat and Logan wishes he had a stop-motion camera so he could replay the move and find out how she does it. "Red suits you."

The top more than suits her. It has long sleeves and a V-neck with a simple collar and only two buttons. She hasn't done them up but she doesn't really need to: there is nothing exposed. The colour is a rich blue-red and he's reminded of wine and cherries. The material looks like cotton or a cotton blend and he wonders if it is soft to the touch. Wonders if the sweater she has placed in her lap is cotton.

Wonders if he'll be able to keep himself in check until they have some privacy.

Max pulls the sweater over her head, pushes the sleeves up to her elbows, and turns to look at him while she starts the car. Despite the damage to her left temple - which Logan notes is mostly healed already - she looks young and beautiful. He wants nothing more than to take her in his arms and demonstrate how much he loves -

_Get real, Cale. You're on a mission here. You need to find out who's doing this to you and keep Max out of harm's way._

Pushing his concerns to one side, Logan removes his glasses and slides them under the top of his sweater, tucking them into his shirt pocket. He checks himself one more time in the mirror - hair wild, glasses off and his face in need of a shave - before flipping the visor up and giving her a nervous smile in return.

"It's gonna be fine, Logan," she assures him as the Uplander backs out of the spot and heads towards the road. "Just tell me where I'm goin' now."

"One block to Burke Avenue, two blocks north then three blocks west on 35th Street," he says quietly. "Not far."

Max smirks. "Are you gonna give me the name of this place or do I have to torture you for it?"

"You're already torturing me." His eyes widen. _Did I just say that out loud?_ He glances at Max, at her face lit by the dashboard lights, and instantly knows that he did. She opts not to tease him.

"The name?"

"The Marietta Hotel."

The Uplander brakes hard just as they are about to turn left out of the parking lot and onto N. Northlake Way.

"Say what?"

"Oh, you've heard of it?" She smacks him in the arm. "_Hey!"_

"You know I've heard of it," she hisses. "I've _told_ you some of the best pickings can be had at places like The Marietta if you know how to get through security."

He doesn't pay much attention when she hints at her other activities, but she doesn't discuss them very often. He'd rather not know anything about a potentially lucrative heist. When he reads the headlines, he doesn't want to picture Max's face behind bars. _If she's ever caught -_

He shakes his head. _Some of the stuff I have her do is more dangerous than a simple theft._

When he glances at her, he notes that her eyes are focussed on a different place and time. "Though she's a tough one to crack," she mutters.

He must've missed something this time. "Who?"

"The security," she says patiently, "at The Marietta. With a name like that, how can the hotel be anything but a 'she'?"

"Uh, right."

"Well," Max says, then turns into the street.

When she doesn't say anything else, Logan adds, "Their room service is excellent."

"I wouldn't know about _that_. I haven't stayed there."

"Just… visited? _Hey!_ Stop hitting me, Max. I'm sore enough as it is."

She looks contrite. "Sorry." She sighs. "Stop baiting me." The corners of his lips quirk upwards slightly, and she catches him. "Ah-ha! You _are_ baiting me. Stop it, or I'll -"

"Yes?"

"I'll -"

"You'll _what_, exactly?"

He leans closer to her. He knows he's playing with fire and finds he doesn't give a damn.

"Are you flirting with me?" she asks coyly and turns left onto N. Northlake Way.

_Max is being coy. I must be doing something right._

"Yes."

He can tell she wasn't expecting him to answer, or at least not provide such a direct, unwavering response.

She laughs lightly. "What took you so long?"

"Nerves." His reply is immediate and without hesitation. The truth is liberating.

"Why now?"

"Stark fear."

She glances at him as they approach the first set of lights. "We still playin' 'Truth or Dare'?" She sounds slightly wary.

He shrugs. "If you like."

Max purses her lips and focusses on the driving.

_Guess she didn't like that answer._

They turn north on Burke Avenue when the light changes. Uncertain what to say, he leans back in his seat and stares out the window, watching the buildings pass. 35th Street comes up quickly and Max silently turns the vehicle west. Sector 37 is not unlike Sector 9. It has recovered well from the Pulse, considering, and in some areas the only reminders that things have irrevocably changed are the price of fuel and the permanently dark sections of the city you can view from your luxury apartment. There is money here.

_Money makes the world go around -_

"_So -"_

Their voices overlap and they both stop.

"You flirt all the time when you're terrified?"

"Only with you."

Max smiles then. "Good," she murmurs but he hears her just fine.

The Marietta Hotel opened for guests in 1933 and it has remained a Seattle landmark with varying degrees of success ever since. Several owners and a few alterations later, the building stands proudly in an area where businesses have returned and prospered. The arches of the front portico have been repaired many times but the Art Deco design is intact.

Logan loves the architecture, inside and out, and he isn't the only wealthy patron to frequent Marietta's famed hospitality. He remembers it from better times, when he was a kid and his parents would have friends visiting the city. He'd ride in the elevator for hours when the adult conversation became boring, which didn't usually take very long. The staff had always been good to him.

_A lifetime ago._

The Uplander signals and turns into the semi-circular driveway, coming to a stop at the edge of the pavement. A raised walkway leads to a set of large steel and glass doors with a stylized floral design. Logan knows they aren't the original doors. Vandals destroyed those sometime at the end of the Twentieth Century. These are the finest reconstructions possible.

"Nice," Max says appreciatively.

"I thought you said you'd been here before."

"Hey, it's been a while. I'm allowed to comment if I want to."

"Of course." He figures that if she has managed to penetrate the security here, she probably hasn't entered via the front doors.

"She's a pretty lady."

At least now Logan understands Max is referring to the building. He smiles, gazing up at the structure and thinking fondly of The Marietta's place in Seattle's glamorous history.

"Oh, yes she is."

"Hey." He turns at the sharpness in her voice. "You aren't supposed to agree."

He raises his eyebrows, completely confused. "I'm _not_?"

"Not if I'm your _date_, Logan."

"Mr. Carter!"

Their heads swivel simultaneously. An attractive blonde in a navy-blue uniform has emerged through the glass doors and smiles as she approaches the car.

Something clicks into place. Max obviously saw the woman before he did. He looks at her once more.

"I thought you were talking about the _hotel_."

"Sure."

"_Max -"_

There is a knock on his window. He sighs heavily.

"Smile," Max encourages him sweetly.

"I'll get you later," he growls before finding a polite smile and turning towards the blonde woman.

_Showtime._

_**To Be Continued…**_


End file.
